


Reaching the End of the World

by frogfarm



Category: City of Heroes
Genre: F/F, Hope, Meta, Paradigm Shift Universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-01 21:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20264482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogfarm/pseuds/frogfarm
Summary: A headstrong young grunt on the front lines of the Shadow Shard. An infamous superpowered individual at the end of her rope. This is the way the world ends...and is reborn.





	1. Firebase November

**Author's Note:**

> The notion for this dates back to April 2014, after City of Heroes had (we all thought) died an ignominious death at the hands of NCSoft, cursed be their name. I envisioned it as mostly a self-indulgent origin story tying my character into the official lore, with a multilevel meta-ending. I hardly ever post unfinished WIPs, but I'm having good luck with one right now, so I've decided to bite the bullet. And if I make it that far, my original ending is now more relevant and appropriate than ever.
> 
> Because [City of Heroes is back](https://forums.homecomingservers.com/).
> 
> Title from Chris Cornell, "Preaching the End of the World". I know I've seen at least one fanvid (Buffy? Firefly?) set to this song, and I'd love to see a CoH one.  

> 
> * * *
> 
>   


When the world first started to end, I was sitting at the end of the world.

Or maybe I should say: When the world _began_ to end.

Of course, nobody knew it at the time.

  


* * *

  


"Look alive." Macready wasn't giving me the traditional stink-eye, but his usual ramrod posture was straighter and stiffer than usual.

"Not easy under these lights." I did my best to sound innocent. "Brass coming through?"

My innocuous tone earned me some stinkeye. It didn't come from Macready, though. Bosalero was the other actual soldier on duty. Like me, he'd been trained in just enough tech to keep from blowing the wrong things up. Our primary job description was contained within the euphemism of "security". Which meant that when feces met fanblades, we blew shit up.

I gave him a discreet finger under the console. Bosalero wasn't a bad guy, just antsy. Again, like me. We also both liked women, which he only gave me a small amount of shit regarding -- less than I'd anticipated, really. And we were absolutely united in our disdain and extremely low-key mockery of Macready. The guy was no Gunnery Sergeant Hartman, but on good days he combined autistic attention to detail with all the bureaucratic enthusiasm of Lundberg from Office Space.

_What's with the pop culture references?_ Bosalero had said, when I first made the comparison. _You watch too many movies._

_Only the classics,_ I'd replied. _Just one of the many subtle techniques that allow me to pull pussy non-stop from here to Khallisti Wharf, all while you're back at base with a laptop, a barrel of lube and your mom's credit card._

That was the start of a not so beautiful relationship. We tried not to turn it into a competition, but some stereotypes exist for a reason, and the foul mouthed military will always be one of the best examples. Macready was one of the few officers on base with a bug up his ass about profanity, which was one of many sore spots as far as the average grunt was concerned. His only redeeming quality in my eyes was that he honestly didn't seem to give a damn what was between a soldier's legs. As a result, I'd never gotten any grief from him for being female. Just the same considerable shit he gave everyone else.

"Yours is not to reason why, Ripley." The glare Macready was sending my way was enough to verify that further wiseassery might not be in my best interest. Not that I've ever been consistent about acting in it to begin with.

From the look on his face, Macready was itching just as badly as I was to find out what would happen when I opened my mouth. Luckily the radio flared to life, sparing us both a disaster in the making.

"_Whiskey, Zulu, Niner!_" Even through a connection full of static, the voice was deep, raspy, and rattled as hell. "_Firebase November, do you read?_"

Bosalero rattled off a quick series of keyboard combos, activating his headset mic. "This is November. Say again your ID. I repeat, say again --"

"_You're lucky I remembered this damn frequency!_" The anger on the other end was rapidly losing control. "_This is Taggart with the Fifth Expeditionary and we have an escaped prisoner, priority Alpha One! I repeat, we have an escaped prisoner headed your way and in fact I estimate arrival at your location any god d--_"

A squeal of feedback leapt from every speaker in the room. Bosalero cursed as he tore off the headphones and hurled them across the room, clutching his ears. I felt the pain as well, but I couldn't move. I was rooted to the spot; mesmerized at what I was seeing through the inch-thick glass of the control facility's one and only window.

The portal to the next dimension over -- Cascade Archipelago, the researchers called it, for whatever reason -- was only a few hundred feet away, and well visible from this spot. As I watched it sprang to life, the rippling mass of color expanding outward in a quivering bulge, distorting the air around itself. Technicians were scurrying about the surrounding platform in frantic disorder, and I snapped back to attention.

"Fire team!" Bosalero snapped into the com at his wrist, never taking his eyes from the portal. "Full hot!"

Macready didn't say a word as we bolted from the office, pounding down the corridor. I'd already checked my sidearm, the same way I'd checked it a million times before. Except my heart had never been pounding like this. I didn't know this Taggart or his Fifth Expeditionary from Jack. But that was the voice of a man who didn't spook easy.

The rest of the team were assembling at the door when we arrived. Bosalero looked to me for confirmation and I nodded, hitting the door release. Clearly we were both on the same page. Anyone late to the party would just have to catch up.

Howling wind whipped through what was left of my hair as we surged out of the building and onto the platform. The portal machinery whirled and groaned, huge circles of spinning metal that shimmered like rainbows. Everyone said it was bad to look at it when the thing was fully activated. Sort of like staring into the sun.

"What the fuck!" Bosalero was struggling to hold his cap on with his left hand while maintaining proper trigger discipline with the right. He yanked it off and threw it away, not even bothering to watch as it disappeared into the sky.

"I know!" I yelled. "I've never seen any kind of weather here! Not 'til now --"

"Look!" This came from one of the other men, who was pointing at the portal. "Something's coming through!"

A stray dust particle chose that moment to nick my eyeball. I fought to keep my weapon steady, blinded by tears I could feel running down my cheek.

When my vision cleared, it was just in time to see a giant eyeball with teeth bearing down.

A vibrant scream erupted from inside our skulls. I remember staggering, managing to get off a shot from the plasma rifle that melted the entire left side of a Wisp. Its frail, sticklike body stumbled and fell in a sodden, graceless heap. It still glowed, but the light was fading. 

More Rularuu were pouring through the gate. The bubble of protection expanded around us, forced outward by our resident psionic at the back of the group, protected by the rest. I could feel him mentally gritting his teeth as he strove to keep up the shield. But it was a losing battle.

A Brute towered over me. Its muscles quivered with rage, its faceless maw opening in a massive black hole. 

Then it froze.

Literally. As in a block of ice appeared around it, trapping the beast with its hands raised as if to ward off an attack. 

Another gust of wind nearly swept me off my feet. I grabbed onto Bosalero's shoulder strap, trying to anchor myself to the spot. The frozen Brute groaned before I realized it was the ice around it, stuck solid to the metal platform underneath. As I watched, it broke loose and slid, slowly gaining speed until it hit the railing, disappearing over the edge.

One of those giant floating eyeballs turned and tore through the air, intent on something. Then it froze -- not literally, this time -- and fell writhing to the ground, wrapped in tendrils of ebon smoke.

_Surrender._ The voice tore through our frontal lobes, working its fingers deep into our cortex, massaging us into compliance. Over and over, the only word. _Surrender..._

With a soundless shriek, my mind was clear. The winds still howled around us, deafening as the platform groaned and buckled beneath our feet, steel girders straining to the limit. 

"Freeze!" Bosalero had his weapon to his shoulder. It was leveled at the woman who had emerged from the portal. All I could see was blue: Everything from her hair to her clothes, from head to toe, was some shade of blue. All but her skin. What little I could see from here was some sort of dark grey, as if she'd been blasted by lightning and left unharmed.

She was ignoring Bosalero and facing off against the head Wisp, brandishing some sort of arcane staff in one hand. Her mouth and nose were covered in some sort of scarf, her eyes above bright and shining as she glared at her opponent.

_Fooooolll..._ The telepathic force of the Wisp nearly made me lose my lunch. It wasn't even directed at me. That just meant it was like standing next to the world's biggest Marshall stack instead of in front of it.

_Yoouu think yoouu can wiinnn?_ the Wisp taunted. But it flinched, as the woman raised her staff.

I could feel Bosalero tensing. With absolute certainty, I saw him giving the order to fire. Along with a vision of myself diving in front of the bullets. Dying to protect a complete stranger.

Then the platform gave way.

The shriek of metal was almost lost in the gale force winds that buffeted the rickety construction. Sub-par minimum bid materials, slapped together by a platoon of hung over enlisted men, were no match for this kind of power. A bevy of rivets gave way all at once, sounding like popcorn at the speed of bullets; Bosalero and the others were diving for safety, all else forgotten in the mad scramble for higher ground. Most of them made it, but a few had fallen away, rolling down the gentle slope of purple grass dotted with equally colorful flora.

My fingers were numb as I held onto the railing, supported by Bosalero. The portal apparatus finished collapsing as it was blown right off the side of our little island, spitting out a few stray Rularuu as it tumbled downward before they all vanished in mid-air. I remembered the dimensional warping effect the scientists had described during our orientation, where everything that fell far enough in these dimensions would eventually vanish and reappear at the "entrance" to that particular fragment. It made me shudder to think of the soldiers back at the gate to Peregrine Island who were probably right now looking up to see all that descending upon them from out of that alien sky. The Rularuu had never managed to breach our forcefield, but this would bypass it entirely. I thought about contacting the base to warn them before deciding there wasn't much point.

Our team, mostly recovered from the shock, were swarming the woman's position. In the blink of an eye they had her cornered, in a quarter circle to avoid friendly fire. Her eyes narrowed as they flicked over us, taking our measure.

Her hand shot out in a gesture as they closed in. One man fell to the ground gasping in pain, covered in thin patches of ice.

The staff vanished from her hand. She fell to one knee, seemingly barely able to keep her head up. I couldn't see a lick of fear in those eyes, but they were absolutely frantic as Bosalero stepped forward, holding a set of zip ties.

As he knelt to fasten them around her wrists, her hand shot out once more.

"Shit!" That was Perkins, but the whole team was coughing. The air was filled with golden pixie dust. Already my throat and lungs were coated, grey spots forming in my vision. I turned and retched, working my jaw, trying to spit.

Then it was over.

The perpetual crimson sun hung low in the sky, unmoving.

And a mysterious blue and grey woman lay unconscious at our feet.

  


* * *

  


We had her cuffed in seconds, in the brig in less than a minute. Nobody dared to remove the mask that concealed the lower half of her face. We just threw her in and locked the door, and we all breathed a little easier once we'd engaged the power suppression field.

Of course, we were fools.

And I was the biggest one of all.


	2. Firebase November: The Brig

But what about me, I hear you asking. That is to say, your oh-so humble narrator. The girl with one name; the person at the center of it all.

I mean, it always matters _who's_ telling the story. Right?

In many ways, I was just a grunt like any other. Born and raised in Paragon City, I'd signed up with the Army fresh out of school. More for money and the tantalizing promise of job security than any real sense of patriotism, but a lot of us kids who came of age in the shadow of the Rikti invasion felt vaguely like we had some kind of obligation. The military was a sure thing if you were in good health, and it offered the kind of structure a lot of us were looking for. Especially the ones coming from broken homes. Mine had been literally vaporized when I was ten, taking Mom right along with it. Dad and I missed her, but it was almost better this way; she'd been hanging on for years with some lung condition brought on by the dust that was raised during one of the previous alien attacks, or so went the theory. As a result, she'd spent all her time hooked to a respirator, barely able to move. I sent Dad a little each month to supplement his income, hoping to get enough training to land a halfway decent job when my term of service was up. Assuming I didn't get my pretty little ass shot off before then.

Until now, the prospect hadn't seemed likely. Here I was just one of hundreds, assigned to a rinky-dink firebase out the arse end of Zulu. The first part of the Shadow Shard explored by humanity, our researchers had managed to gain entrance to and even map out most of the floating islands. Our unit was situated at the farthest point from the gateway to our own dimension, guarding the entrance to the next adjoining zone. Apart from keeping the portals themselves in one piece -- wouldn't do to wind up trapped here, on the other side -- my biggest worry for the last six months had been falling asleep on the job. Right now, it was falling asleep in Macready's office.

"I know you guys don't like me." Macready was pacing back and forth behind his desk. To his credit, he was keeping a pretty leisurely pace.

"Permission to speak frankly, sir."

"Denied."

I didn't contest the issue. Honestly, I was expecting it.

"But let's cut the bullshit." Macready sat down, reaching over and pulling open his bottom left desk drawer. As I watched, he produced a nearly full bottle of something that claimed to be bourbon. It looked expensive.

I raised both eyebrows as he offered me the bottle. "No glass?" 

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but we've got a full fledged super in the brig." Macready sighed and proffered the bottle again. "Either take a shot or decline, but do not leave me sitting here looking like an asshole."

Somehow, I held back the obvious retort. It went down smooth, and I licked my lips as I replaced the cork. No sense in getting greedy. Plus as I like to say, I got all my heavy drinking out of the way in high school.

"Don't take this personally." Macready was wearing a guarded expression as I handed back the bottle. "But I was thinking of pulling you off guard duty."

I couldn't help a chuckle, and a rueful smile. "Permission to speak freely?"

I actually saw a twinkle in his eye as he uncorked the bottle and took a swig of his own. "Granted."

"I'm not offended. I mean -- as the only Lesbonese personnel on base, it makes perfect sense." My pursed lips twisted in a smirk. "And she's probably pretty hot, under that thing."

"Enough with the free speech." But Macready was fighting a smile.

"You think she comes from the desert?" I didn't miss a beat. "Looks more like the Arctic to me."

"Okay -- enough. So." Macready rubbed his forehead. "At the risk of getting a smartass answer -- what do you think I should do?"

"We were short-staffed before she put two guys in traction," I pointed out. "I don't want you thinking you can't rely on me to follow orders."

"These are unusual circumstances." Macready scowled. "Not extraordinary. Not yet."

I ventured a cautious probe. "Word down from the top?"

"Not yet," he repeated, with a roll of the eyes. "I'm guessing any time now. When they say Alpha One, they're not joking."

I considered this and gave a knowing nod. "So absolutely no unnecessary contact?"

Macready responded with a snort, looking me dead in the eye. "I haven't heard any orders to that effect."

I blinked, momentarily thrown.

"Until then -- maybe you can get her to relax." Macready finished stowing the bottle away and stood, exuding a decidedly dismissive air. "Maybe even extract a little information."

My mind was awhirl all the way back to my quarters.

Unfortunately, it was already focusing on all the wrong things.

  


* * *

  


I'd heard plenty of stories. We all had; chalk it up to living in a city full of legends, never quite living up in person to their larger than life status. For most of us peons, the supers were like rich folks: Mostly the same as you and me. It was just that some were more different than others.

Naturally, we traded jokes about the prisoner. Bosalero theorized she was hiding a mass of tentacles beneath the mask. I was personally fond of the mermaid theory floated by Perkins. Then again, he'd transferred to the Army after washing out of Navy.

It fell to me to discover the truth, halfway through my second shift on the third day. I'd been trying on and off to get her to open up, starting with the usual small talk: _I'm Ripley. Like Alien, but it's my first name. My dad was a big movie nut._

Usually that gets my foot in the door no problem. This time, I might as well have been dead chopped liver.

So imagine my surprise when I came back from chowing down to find our silent prisoner up and moving, standing at the sink, bent over and washing her face. Perkins gave a sarcastic salute as I signed him off, and then a nod at the prisoner's back.

"Just got up," he muttered, taking his leave.

I made myself comfortable, watching with interest as she shut the water off. She hadn't said a word for two days now, so I wasn't expecting anything. I was just glad we hadn't been told to keep her in solitary.

"The towels are pretty scratchy," I said. "But they work well enough."

She gave no sign of hearing, and I took a moment to admire her outfit. A simple sweater with loose-fitting slacks, the real subtlety was in the shading. You had to look closely to realize it matched perfectly the cobalt blue of her hair.

"Just hold it against your face." I gave it my best Neutral Cop. "And don't try to rub."

I could hear the tiniest sarcastic exhalation through her nose. She was turning to look at me, and my heart sped up a touch.

She'd pulled her shoulder-length hair back in a ponytail, the better to clean up. Which she did nicely; my fellow grunts might be disappointed at losing the bet, but I was sure they would all agree this was one fine looking woman. Strong yet delicate features beautifully framed by high cheekbones, and topped with a patrician's blade of a nose that on anyone else would probably have been described as cute. She was within spitting distance and now I could see her eyes. They were a disconcertingly bright blue, the color of sky and sea.

Apart from her unusual coloration -- the ebon skin, the seemingly dyed hair -- she seemed perfectly normal. Nothing overtly impressive. Other than her height. Without standing up, I could tell she had at least four inches on me. I'd been JV basketball through high school, plus the little college I'd managed before enlisting. Nowhere near enough talent to go pro, but I could intimidate the hell out of most other players just by standing near them and towering over them.

So she was built like me, but taller. And with slightly bigger boobs.

I came out of my reverie to find her ignoring me again, going through a series of shoulder stretches. The air conditioning was busted again, and she was still wearing long pants and long sleeves. Just looking at her made me want to start sweating.

_Get a grip,_ I told myself. That only brought a fresh wave of sleazy imagery. Which was unexpectedly interrupted by a flash of realization.

"I know you." It came out before I could stop myself. Typical Ripley.

She cocked her head, without turning around. "Right."

"She speaks!" Already I was regretting the overdose of sarcasm. Only one word, but her voice was everything I'd anticipated, rich and buttery. Real butter.

She resumed stretching, her back still toward me.

"Seriously." I frowned, racking my brain. "I know I've seen you before."

"Check the crime sheets." She punctuated this with another sarcastic snort. "I've got a ton of greatest hits."

"Well, sure. Everybody's seen you on TV." I dismissed this with a wave of my hand, though she wasn't looking. "I'm not talking about that."

That got her attention. She turned all the way around, both hands on her hips, regarding me like a potential used car salesman.

"Yeah." I snapped my fingers and nodded. "Seventh grade. You were in that halfway house over on Yancy."

A bemused frown crossed her face. But the calculated rise of one eyebrow told me I'd nailed it.

"I used to go by it on the way to school. All the older girls had to sit out front to smoke." I chuckled at the memory. "And you were always --"

"The swing." She was smiling, nodding with her eyes closed. "There was a swing on the front porch."

"And you always had it all to yourself." I could see her even now, legs tucked underneath her, curled into the corner reading a book. Or resting her chin on her knees, staring off into the distance.

"Because nobody wanted to sit with me." She didn't seem overly bitter. Harsh, but a statement of pure fact.

I tried not to sound too innocent. "Prejudiced against people of color?"

The left corner of her lip curled upward, into an all too adorable dimple. "One too many electric shocks."

"So." I managed to sound more casual than I felt. "Whatcha been up to?"

"Last I checked?" She sat on the edge of the lower bunk, leaning back on both hands with a shrug. "Number six on Paragon's Most Wanted." 

"So you're a number." I decided to take a more calculated risk. Usually when I offend people, it's totally by accident. "And not exactly a free man."

_"Die Gedanken sind frei."_ She chuckled, not even looking at me, staring off into space. _"Wer kann, sie erraten."_

"Careful, Eva." I grinned, to show my good faith. And because it was funny. "Don't want people calling you a Fifth Columnist."

"Better them than the goddamn Council." She leaned down to pull off her boots before stretching out on her bunk with a sigh. "Probably one of the few groups I didn't join."

"Oh come on," I scoffed. 'You're telling me one bunch of Nazis is better than another? At something other than being Nazis?"

"Better uniforms, anyway." Her eyes drifted shut and her jaw cracked open in an enormous yawn. "Say what you want about the tenets of National Socialism, but at least the Fifth Column is pro-human."

I had to laugh out loud. "You're serious?"

"Those jokers in the Council would sell this entire planet out to the first interstellar species that made contact." Another yawn as she shifted position, rolling over on her side to face the wall. "You want to see some real Nazis? Check out those wenches in the Cabal."

I waited a moment, but nothing more seemed forthcoming.

Still.

It was a start.


	3. Firebase November: The Plot Quickens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remembered the fanvid I referred to back at the start of all this: [BradCPU's "The End of the World"](https://bradcpu.livejournal.com/14331.html), starring Buffy and Faith. Brad's done a ton of great videos, so [check out the whole list](https://bradcpu.livejournal.com/91377.html). The fact that I couldn't remember if this was Buffy or Firefly is probably because he also did [a Firefly video to a different Chris Cornell song](https://bradcpu.livejournal.com/9974.html) which I actually like even better. Not to mention this stunning [House video set to the Crystal Method](http://bradcpu.livejournal.com/28864.html). Seriously, check them all out.
> 
> Warning: A bit of an infodump, but followed by a quick return to flirtatious snark and snappy patter.  

> 
> * * *
> 
>   


All the next day, it felt like we were just waiting for a transport team to arrive and take take Little Miss Super off our hands. But by the time my shift rolled around, the radio was still as silent as the grave. And I was still trying to convince myself that I didn't quite know how to feel about it.

What I'd told her was true. I'd seen her on television, in all the papers; in a million shaky online cellphone videos, in countless pointless 'debates' that were nothing more than a shouting match. Maybe she wasn't a legend on the level of Statesman, or even Synapse, but Frigid Bridget was definitely a household name. Enough of one that I knew what to look for when I hit the library. 

The press were ever eager for a fresh young face, as well as the opportunity to be the first to name it, and so she had originally been given the _nom de plume_ of Weather Witch. That was barely a month after her first appearance as a legal adult -- more or less -- when she had clumsily taken up the mantle of crimefighter like so many others. Her career trajectory waxed and waned, and waxed again, following the inevitable cycles of fame; and it wasn't clear precisely when that same media had turned upon her, denouncing her as the latest in ultimate villainy ("Literally worse than Lord Recluse," a prominent blogger declared).

This was all public knowledge, but when she started filling in the gaps for me, it only made things more confusing. The big problem was buying into her main thesis. She claimed to have come from the Storm Palace, where she'd been born, and to where she had returned in a mad quest to singlehandedly take on the equally mad ruler of that far-flung realm. Ambitious? Absolutely. At best, a tad optimistic. But if you believed the rest of the story, it all started to sound plausible: How she'd managed to unlock half of the legendary Incarnate tree, becoming in the process something more than superhuman. Perhaps approaching what those in hushed whispers were known to refer to as living gods.

I was in the mess hall later that afternoon when the base was thrown into a brief uproar. No big deal; the arrival of a Hero will do that, and especially when it comes with no prior warning. I didn't recognize him. We expected he'd cart the weather wench off in cuffs and that would be that. Instead he stared at her through the safe distance of the security camera for about ten minutes, occasionally checking readouts on a handheld device of some kind, then spent all of two minutes in Macready's office before walking out with a folder tucked under one arm. The brief glimpse I caught at the gate as he fumbled it was enough to see the embossed seal and red lettering that indicated a _THREAT LEVEL: INCARNATE_. Nothing ironclad, but enough to prove she wasn't totally blowing smoke.

Which was part of the problem: Nobody had ever known how seriously to take her, not since the day she first came to the city. The story on the street was that she had been born in mad Lanaruu's very own stronghold, in the heart of the Storm Palace itself. Upon discovering them, it was said, the master of the realm had slain her mother and cast her out. But she'd landed on a tiny island that floated in the very shadow of the Palace; licked her wounds, and nursed herself back to health. It wasn't long before she took to the air, flying and frolicking among the Elementals that roamed the endless skies, defying her mother's killer by making her home right under his nose. Maybe he tolerated her presence. More likely, he was completely unaware of her existence.

Regardless, at some point she had appeared in Paragon, and the rumour mill exploded. One minute she was a rising star in the Cabal, making allies and enemies with equal speed; the next she was an undercover agent with the Knives of Artemis, working to deflouridate the water supply centers contaminated by Dr. Vazhilok. For nearly a year her reputation and infamy grew, until half the city claimed to have seen her.

Then she vanished.

Of course the rumours only grew more outlandish. She'd been acquiring ever more devastating abilities in the months leading up to her disappearance: Storms of ice and rain that slowed and crippled her foes, and a concealing mist that hid her from all but the keenest of sight. Crey Corporation had placed her on their own ten most wanted list, while models in the Rogue Isles were doubling their income with Bridget cosplay portfolios. Despite her growing power, it was natural to assume the worst. It certainly wouldn't have been the first time an aspiring hero or villain mysteriously failed to come home. Hazard was part of the business. But her very reluctance, her avoidance of public life in the spotlight, was part of what made the public hungry for more.

So when she went off the grid, people noticed. Even with the papers crammed full of super-related headlines, it took a long time for speculation to die down. Another year passed. And just when most had given her up for dead, she exploded back into the world: Hurricanes, thunder and lightning and the unstoppable tornado were hers to command, as well as a faceless block of living ice that crushed and blasted anything in its path. But even more dramatic than her sudden reappearance and phenomenal new powers were the circumstances. With the city in the grips of another invasion by the Rikti, it was more than possible her return could have gone unnoticed. Or she might have done what so many others had, and taken advantage of the chaos for her own benefit. Instead she had thrown her lot in with the forces of law and order, battling alongside Paragon's finest until the last of the alien menace had been beaten back, the final portal sealed.

Then she'd vanished again. Or tried to; for even her famous caution couldn't keep her completely off the radar. Not with her newfound powers bringing ever-greater attention from ever-deadlier enemies; not with groupies and wanna-be sidekicks flooding the Internet with pleas for attention and trading tips on possible Bridget sightings. The few who managed to find her were quickly dissuaded from further contact, assuming they survived the experience. And those who made it through her defenses discovered to their dismay that the easy young target with the glass jaw had grown a surprisingly thick skin. Now she was no longer so easily toppled even by physical strength, her own fists packing more punch than her slight frame seemed capable of.

Still, fame is fickle. And with so many other names competing for attention, she might have faded back into the obscurity she craved. But then came the Hamidon. The once gentle scientist who had transformed himself into a single gigantic cellular organism; whose mad vision threatened not just humanity, but all life on Earth. Nobody was sure who first spotted her, but there she was, a tiny speck in the chaos, raging against the colossal mitochondria that protected their even larger master.

Few knew what to make of the seemingly schizophrenic attitude of someone who shifted so readily between light and darkness. Even as some heroes believed she could still be saved, others pointed to her growing cruelty, the physical manifestation of her hardening image in the form of a stone skin to protect herself from attack; stone fists to retaliate in kind with crushing blows that could cripple or kill with frightening quickness. And her control over the elements reached new heights -- or rather depths, as a single stomp of a foot opened fissures in the earth to send her foes flying.

As for when she crossed that fine line from hero to villain, or back again, everyone had their own opinion. Suffice it to say there were those who would just as soon that she had stayed in that wretched hive of scum and villainy known as the Rogue Isles, or preferably died there; and at least as many there would have preferred that she never darken the Isles with her presence in the first place. Her time there had been as confusing as her career in Paragon, never serving any master above her own ambition. Eventually she earned a level of grudging respect from the natives; whispered names like _Efficiency Expert_ and _Annihilator_. And when she returned to Paragon, and those who had spat on her name and declared good riddance were left gritting their teeth -- smiling and acting like they'd been her loyal friends all along -- there were at least a few in the Rogue Isles with the decency to throw her a going away party, and none with the indecency to disrupt the festivities.

Truth be told, most people when pressed would admit they could see no real difference. Everyone knew it was all about perception, and public relations, and portrayal in the media. She was a classic antihero who had repeatedly proven unable to ignore her cracked heart of gold, and the public loved those types -- paradoxically so, all the more when the objects of their affection chose to fight or ignore it. Bridget had thrown herself back into the role of hero with enough gusto to cover her chest with medals, overflowing her metaphysical bank account with enough reputation to buy the entire state. Even working both sides openly and notoriously had failed to put a dent in her image; if anything, it forced people to respect her stance and argue from principle.

Naturally, it was around this time that the men in black among the world's leading nations added her on their list of notable supers...

"Wow." As her tale wound its way around to a close, I realized I'd been listening for the better part of a shift. "Quite a little story you got there."

Bridget regarded me in silence. 

"Not hungry?" I nodded at her untouched lunch tray. "Don't blame you."

"I've had worse." But her shrug was a little too casual.

"I can bring you back a better class of chow." I was already calculating how much I could sneak out of the mess hall. "As long as you keep up with the bullshit."

She cocked one eyebrow. "Bullshit?"

"You hear me complaining?" I flashed her an over the shoulder grin as I buzzed in my replacement. "Best entertainment this dump's had since I came on board."

I spent lunch conferring with a few of my fellow soldiers. Not that there were many to choose from, at this hour. We'd been running a skeleton crew since the accident -- attack, whatever you wanted to call it. I ended up consulting the net from my quarters, using my phone and running it through two VPN's. Every last terminal on base was riddled with monitors and backdoors, all baked in at the hardware level.

Not that I was breaking any regulations.

Yet.

Because everything I found should have left me even more determined to keep her behind bars. And instead, it only fed the growing urge I had to set her free.

Just to see what would happen.

  


* * *

  


"I'm worried about you."

"Aw." My response was more reflex than anything. For one thing, I was focused on spiccing and spanning my quarters to within an inch of their life. The one thing that consistently hurt me on review was that hospital corners still managed to elude my grasp. Naturally, Macready was a stickler for them.

"Yo." Bosalero stepped up and took hold of the other side of the bedsheet. "I know what pussy-crazed looks like."

"Oh, I know you do." I chuckled as we tucked it into place. "Never figured you for the jealous type."

"I'm serious." And he did look it, now that I was actually paying attention. Even concerned. For little old me?

"Jesus," I laughed, shaking my head. "Can you blame me? She's the only female this side of the gate who doesn't work in the research lab. And have you seen that rack? I can't remember the last time I had to look up at a woman."

Bosalero was wearing what was for him a strange expression. It took me a moment to recognize it as pity.

"What's wrong with the geek girls?"

"They don't laugh at my jokes." I sighed, forcing myself to quit messing with the rebellious corners. "I can't believe Macready was less of a douche than you."

"Just looking out for a buddy," he replied. His bronzed and chiseled jaw was firmly set.

That stubborn quality had always been one of the things I admired most in Bosalero, even when it happened to be inconvenient for me. Right now it was irritating. Though actually it was more irritating to not know why it was irritating.

"I'm collecting intel -- at Macready's own strongly implied suggestion. So I suggest you take it up with him." I turned to face him, hands on my hips for maximum intimidation. "And if you think I'm getting busy on camera, sorry to disappoint. But I'm having too much fun flirting for the first time in over a year to be fucked about any Y chromosome opinion that doesn't come from a superior officer. Dig?"

Bosalero's frustration was plain. He opened his mouth, then apparently thought better of it. With a dismissive wave of one hand, he turned on his heel and walked straight out the door.

I didn't even notice.

I was thinking about what to wear.

  


* * *

  


Bridget looked up from the floor, pausing mid-pushup. "What's with the desert camo?"

"Meh." I gave it the perfect edge of boredom. "Everything else in the wash."

She clambered to her feet, making it look graceful. Apparently it was finally warm enough for her to ditch the sweater. The T-shirt underneath was more black than blue, which thankfully made her chest less noticeable. It was already hard enough not to look like I was staring.

"Here you go." I slid the tray through the slot in the bars, nodding at its contents. "Little something extra."

Her mouth twisted in a delicate moue. "Double soup Tuesday?"

"Blueberry muffin." I tried not to sound smug. "With extra butter pats."

She picked it up with a frown, giving an experimental sniff.

"Sorry." I affected an apologetic air. "It's gluten-free." 

That got a chuckle. She picked up the tray and carried it over to her bunk, sitting down with a slight grunt. I put up my feet on the desk and let her get a few bites down before taking the conversational reins.

"So," I said. "I spent yesterday checking out Youtube clips."

"Mm." She took a moment to finish chewing. "You do know that's all fake."

"I saw the footage of you and that super speeder." I smiled in recollection. "You've got a pretty big mean streak."

She looked up and cocked her head, with a subtle shrug of one shoulder. "Guilty."

"And I saw..." I allowed it to hang just for a second. "All the rest of it."

She gave me another suspicious look before returning to her hamburger.

"What the whole world saw," I continued. "The Rikti invasion...the Hamidon."

She shook her head, not looking up. "And?"

_She speaks!_ This time, my exultation remained silent.

"So you're not a complete shitbird." I smiled to lessen the blow. "Pardon my French."

That got me a snort through the nose.

"Stunning praise." She leaned over and placed the tray on the floor, then leaned back to stretch out on the bunk with her eyes closed. "Let me know when my ride comes."

I looked at the tray. She hadn't touched her muffin.

"You want to get out of here?"

"I hope that's a rhetorical question." She sighed again, splayed out with one knee up, hands clasped behind her head. "I'd hate to think you were just a pretty face."

"Then let's narrow it down." I regarded her over the toes of my boots. "You want to go on a date?"

That got Bridget's attention. Not at first. But very quickly, as she sat up and turned to face me with a look I couldn't quite read.

"I'm serious." I looked at her like she was crazy. "We have to get you out of here."

Her face changed, very slowly. Almost as if the more she was realizing whatever it was, the more she was oh-shitting about it. And trying not to look like it. 

"What..." She struggled with something, eyes shining bright in that dark grey face. "What exactly do you mean?"

"I mean that camera behind me doesn't record audio." I punctuated this with a raised eyebrow.

From the look on her face, the lip-reading implications were sinking in. She stared at me for a moment, slowly shaking her head, and then let her head fall to stare at the floor, arms resting on her knees.

"You're going to hate me." Her words were perfectly clear. "And you're going to hate yourself."

"You let me worry about me." I craned my head back, peering over my shoulder. Still no guards at the door. "Just tell me how hard this is gonna be."

"With you helping?" Her sigh was followed by a cynical chuckle. "Depressingly simple."

The sound of her amusement was sour. It still made me want to nuzzle her neck.

I gathered up my courage, and stepped over the Rubicon.

"What do you need?" 

She looked up. staring me up and down before finally letting out a resigned sigh.

"More help."


	4. Firebase November: Turncoat

Getting "more help" turned out to be no more complicated than responding to a classified ad on Craigslist. According to Bridget, there was a distributed software agent online that perpetually reposted the ad every time it expired. It would run until and unless someone replied to it with the correct signature. Whether it was out of common sense paranoia or my lingering shreds of self-preservation, I ended up going the old-fashioned route and called up a fellow grunt back at Peregrine who I knew was on leave. He was more than happy to check around for the item I described. I already knew there would only be one match.

It took a minute for my thumb to hit the hangup button on my phone. It took another to realize my hand was shaking.

From the bathroom mirror, I stared back at myself. A white tank top that barely covered lanky muscle, skin glistening with sweat. Standard baggy camo pants. Freshly cropped hair that might be vaguely red, by some people's definition, if allowed to grow out. That explained the eyes; too blue to be green, neither fish nor fowl. And square-jawed features that no matter how genuinely happy I might be, always looked just a little bit concerned.

From outside came Bosalero's version of concern. "You stay in there too long, I'm gonna talk shit about powdering your nose."

"Never my drug of choice." I slid the phone into a side pocket, then gave my hands a quick wash. Moral quandaries aside, you shouldn't need the Army to teach you good basic hygiene.

Bosalero was waiting outside with a perfunctory leer. "You know what I like about you?"

I pretended to think. "Devastating witticisms and an onion booty?"

"You never pull that _just one of the guys_ shit." The leer vanished as he searched my face, looking for who knows what. "I respected that."

"Past tense," I noted. "How significant is that?"

He didn't crack a smile. "At least two decimal points."

"A math joke. Guess those night classes are paying off." I chuckled to show no hard feelings. "You guys have a pool going, right? How long it'll take me to land her?"

"What -- oh, Jesus." Bosalero's normally jovial face took on an odd look of disgust. It was the look of a pre-teen walking in on their parents.

"Just doing my duty." I plastered on the most relaxed and sociable grin I could muster. "Who says I can't have fun doing it?"

Bosalero didn't respond as I walked away. Inside, I was sweating fifty cal shells. A virtual prisoner in a perpetual losing argument with myself. All the way down to the brig I strode, getting inexplicably angrier with each and every step until I walked in, slammed the door behind me and stalked up to Bridget's cell, sticking my nose right between the bars. She was sitting on the edge of her bunk reading a book, and looked up with a puzzled expression.

"All right, now." My hands gripped the bars. All my rage and ignorance was desperate for a target. "What the fuck did you do to m--"

I lost my grip and reeled back. Bridget was lowering her hand as I staggered to a halt and I realized I was silently staring at her, my right hand resting on top of my pistol, still safe in its holster at my side. Everything seemed sharper, more defined, outlined in a ghostly halo.

She gave me the Spock eyebrows. "How do you feel?"

I bit back an angry retort amid my rising confusion. Was I seeing butterflies before I died? Like that guy in Cowboy Bebop?

"Good," I admitted. Though all my thoughts were of the camera aimed at my back.

"You sounded angry," Bridget said. A casual statement, like a farmer idly commenting as his barn sailed off into the sky: _Storm's a-comin'._

"And what the hell did you hit me with?" I still couldn't stoke up any genuine anger. My brain felt like it was humming on all cylinders, kicked up a gear to a new level of efficiency.

"Toxic substance." The twinkle in her eye was faint, but obvious. "Fatal in high concentrations."

"Dihydrogen monoxide," I muttered. _Water. Weather --_

I snapped my fingers. "Oxygen."

"Contrary to popular opinion?" Bridget lay back and stretched out, covering the full length of the narrow bunk bed. "It's not always about me."

I resisted the urge to look at the camera as I sat down. My mind was racing a mile a minute. I had to wonder how long it would last.

"I'm surprised." Bridget's eyes were closed, her voice and posture the image of perfect relaxation. I realized only now that her hair was down, hanging loose around her shoulders.

I frowned. "By what?"

"After what just happened? Our lack of company." She nodded at the door, then glanced up at the camera. "Is anyone even watching that thing?"

"I'm sure my supervisor stays caught up." I chuckled as I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. "Probably spanks himself to it."

That got a surprised snort of amusement. From nowhere, I thought of a question I hadn't thought to ask.

"So what kind of super are you?"

Bridget turned her head and squinted. I wondered if she needed glasses. It only made my fantasies worse.

"You mean, what's my origin?" She gave a pointed chuckle. "Are you allowed to ask that?"

My smile held only a hint of entendre. "It's not a job interview."

Bridget rolled onto her side, propping her cheek on one fist and fixing me with a subtle grin of her own.

"Guess."

"Ask anyone." I nodded with approval. "They'll tell you I like a challenge."

"You gonna guess?" She hadn't moved. "Or stall?"

"I'd say..." I cupped my chin, index finger tapping my lips. "Mutant."

"Oh?" Again the eyebrow rose. I could sense her disappointment.

"You're a mutant." I nodded, confirming my surety. "Whose body has been affected by magic --"

Her smile grew even wider.

"And science," I concluded. I resisted the urge to stand and take a bow. It didn't seem necessary. Bridget was sitting up and offering a rousing round of golfclap, along with a keen look of renewed interest.

"Give the corporal a gold star." The sparkle in her eye was spreading out to the rest of her. "What was that I said about a pretty face?"

"Me? I'm a tech girl." I let my hand come to rest on my sidearm again and gave it a pat, watching her gaze follow along. "And unlike the Freakshow? I like it on the outside of my body."

The expression on Bridget's face could only be described as a smirk. "Speak for yourself."

I was still chuckling when she spoke again. "It should have been here by now."

"What?" Even as I said it I felt a little bit stupid: _Oh, right._ "What's up?"

"I have no idea. Obviously." Bridget didn't sound too snarky, at least not yet. "Last I knew, the military didn't have much in the way of defense against the dark arts."

"Oh, you have got to be --" I rolled my eyes and leveled one finger at her. "You can make all the literary and pop culture references you want. Highbrow, low bar -- choice is yours. But do not -- under _any_ circumstances -- quote that shit."

Her lips twisted slowly into a smile. "Dare I ask?"

"Nothing complicated," I said. "Or worth discussing. Maybe, someday. If you don't piss me off. Or we've exhausted all other topics of conversation, which isn't bloody likely."

"So noted." Bridget had returned to her Thinker posture. It only increased my urge to see her in glasses. Kind of round, but not perfect circles; maybe those old-fashioned wire frames --

"No surprise, really." Her voice startled me from my reverie. "If Uncle Sam can have a psionic on a fire team, anything's possible."

"Shit." I could feel my own jail cell building up around me, block after block slamming into place.

"But if they've got a magickal barrier," she continued, "then in theory, it's simple. Just get outside the perimeter."

"Guess I'll find out after dinner." I exhaled loudly at the thought of Bosalero on my back again. "Kind of running low on fresh excuses."

Bridget gave a derisive snort. "That's what you get for trying to stamp out smoking."

"You have been away a while, haven't you?" I shook my head. "Do you even vape?"

  


* * *

  


An excuse turned out to be easy: I told Macready I needed to get out of the building before I turned everyone around me into tartare. Sun and fresh air were a bit different in this neck of the woods, but it still beat being cooped up for months on end. Even with a well-equipped gym onsite for recreation, there were plenty of spuds and more than a few officers who'd been known to take a quick hop to the next island over. It was one of those unspoken, unwritten sets of rules that keep the social machinery sufficiently lubricated to avoid a jam. Everyone knew it was unauthorized, and everyone looked the other way. Macready didn't even bat an eye as he dismissed me with the traditional warning: _Don't fall off._

I didn't even care about going that far. At least not yet. And as it turned out, I didn't have to. I was about fifty feet from the front door of the bunker, not quite halfway across the island as I made a bee line for the gravity wells on the far side. Stumping along with my jacket slung over my shoulder, I was wondering if I might have to make the jump after all. That was when I felt it: The sensation of something being squeezed, until it popped into existence.

I never broke stride as I kept on walking. The extra weight was burning a hole in my side pocket all the way to the edge of the rock, where I hunkered down a few feet from the shimmering blue haze of the gravity well and pulled out a ham salad on rye with sweet pickles. I had to stay long enough to convince Macready I'd really been on the verge of going stir crazy.

I might as well enjoy the view.

  


* * *

  


I was walking a little stiff by the time I got back to base. Hadn't thought I was that out of shape after six months driving a desk. Time get back on that particular horse.

Except someone was waiting for me the minute I walked through the front door. A trio of someones, actually.

"Ripley." Macready nodded to the nurse who was standing beside him, wearing an decidedly uncomfortable look.

I gave Bosalero my pointiest look. "Don't have to ask who put you up to it."

"It's just a formality." Macready sounded infuriatingly reasonable, as always. "If you'd prefer a urine test --"

"You'd like me to tell you to piss off," I said. "Or do something crazy like start taking my clothes off, right here. Because I'm just mad enough to do it."

"If you're gonna give anyone a show, make it Miss Johnson." Macready nodded again. This time, it carried official weight. "Ladies?"

It turned out that while Nurse Johnson might have been happy to assist Macready in his authoritarian schemes, she was less enamored with the idea of having to strip search a girl who might get turned on by the prospect. I didn't bother telling her that probably covered half the women on Earth. Instead we did a little sisterly bonding; exchanged a bit of banter on the subject of how to fight the patriarchy, followed by a regretful acknowledgement of the importance of following lawful orders. With those formalities out of the way, we'd saved enough face for me to quickly disrobe and twirl around twice, arms extended.

"Good enough?" It was hard not to sound like a letch. Not when she could blush so prettily.

"Sorry." Johnson was looking even more uncomfortable.

"No worries," I chuckled, turning my back on her. "I know the drill."

Two embarrassing seconds later, Johnson gave me the all-clear to get dressed. Embarrassing for her, anyway. I'd just taken a shower that morning.

I walked out of the exam room with the strong desire to thumb my nose at Bosalero, who didn't appear relieved in the slightest. I ignored him, as well as Macready, who looked like he was trying not to apologize as he congratulated me on my clean bill of health. Whatever they were saying, I tuned right out. It was all just static; all the way out and down the hall, back to my room.

I went to bed early that night. I slept well.

Better than I should have.

  


* * *

  


I arrived early for my shift on guard duty. I'd already gone to Macready first thing, making sure he wasn't going to scuttle me. Then I went to the mess and made up a tray that was literally overflowing with goodness. A triple helping of bacon would hopefully go a long way toward keeping me on Bridget's good side.

I still had no idea what was happening, or why I was cheerfully going through with it all. Like it was completely normal.

"The camera's disabled," she informed me when I walked into the brig. "We can talk now."

"What was all that shit, then?" My first reaction was to freak out, but she didn't seem the least bit hurried. I took that as reason to remain calm.

"To deliver that package, the virus had to find me." She was sitting on the edge of her bunk, both elbows on her knees, hands cupped before her. "Then it moved into phase two."

I walked up to the bars and dropped her tray in the slot. "Which is?"

"Help me." She sniffed the air, and her eyes drifted shut as her face broke into a smile. "I can see you've been doing your part."

I swallowed the first thought that came to mind, as well as the second.

"You'll notice I didn't say turned off," she said. "I believe 'disabled' was the word I used."

"Normally, you're kind of cute." I didn't move a muscle. "But if I have to ask for clarification every time you open your mouth --"

"It's an illusion." Bridget sounded completely at ease as she rose from the bunk. Her nostrils flared as she picked up the tray, sitting back down with an approving nod.

I still didn't feel safe looking at the camera. "So what do they see?"

"Just us," Bridget said, through a mouthful of bacon. "Having a conversation."

I tried not to grit my teeth. "About?"

"Sex and drugs and rock and roll." Blissful sounds of appreciation came from her cell as she continued to chew. I could have told you this would get me hot and bothered.

"Cooking, now and then." She dabbed at her lips with a napkin, eyes gleaming as she selected another slice. "Maybe a little sports."

"You're a sportsballer?" I shook my head. "Thought I knew you."

"So I hear you wondering," Bridget continued. She raised one finger, pausing to swallow. "If this chick is all that and a bag of chips -- why doesn't she just incarnate her bad self on out of here and save me the trouble?"

"You mean besides the power suppression." I nodded my head at the row of fat black cells stacked along the far wall. They fed into the thin strands of impervium that joined at various points along the edges of her containment chamber, forming a matrix in the shape of a cube to generate the dampening field.

"That?" Her smile was definitely into smirk territory. "Didn't stop me when I gave you a boost the other day."

I opened my mouth, then stopped. Looking at the power cells more closely, I could still see nothing amiss. Their faint hum of operation was there as always, just under the range of audible, the light smell of ozone present as ever in the air.

"I've been laid pretty low." Bridget's smirk was amplified, to the point where normally I would have been responding. With interest. "But there's some things..."

She wiggled her fingers. A light breeze tickled my scalp, and I had to fight the urge to step back.

"...you just can't take from me."

The skin around my chest and upper back was tightening up, riddled with an ever-changing pattern of goosebumps. All I could think was that maybe it wasn't too late for the rest of my team.

"You need to swear." My voice sounded hoarse in my ears as my gaze locked onto hers. "And I mean Terminator Two swear."

Bridget cocked her head with a frown, that went from puzzled to bemused. And then, oddly enough, something akin to sympathy.

"About?"

I had to choke down a heartfelt response of my own. Even spun as I was -- or because I was so spun -- I hadn't forgotten Basic Girlfriend. Getting pissed at someone who's aping you is playing right into their hands.

"You need to convince me that you'll do everything in your power not to harm any other soldier on this base." A constricting band wrapped itself around my heart for a split second, squeezing it up into my throat. I swallowed back the lump as I stared her down.

"Don't worry." Her grin was crooked, but it felt honest. "I'll just put 'em on ice."

"Pfeh." I couldn't stop the sound of disgust. "They teach you that in Shitpuns one oh one?"

Another bite of bacon, along with a meaningful eyebrow. "You manage to land that package, there might could be a few more options on the table."

"Non-lethal options." I didn't make it a question.

"That was the implication." Her sarcasm was less subtle this time.

I stood there, frozen. Or that's what it felt like. Almost like I was watching myself go through the motions; pulling the matched pair of transparent vials from my pocket, blue and red, each the size of my little finger. Polished and smooth, filled with equally clear liquid, they'd fit nice and snug for all I'd had plenty more up there. I'd had them soaking in hot water all morning, praying it would wash away any residual funk.

"Nice work." The knowing smile on her face as I let the contraband fall into her palm was just kind enough that I couldn't begrudge her the lewdness. It was probably more restraint than I would have shown, had our positions been reversed. Naturally, this did not help with the mental imagery.

"Now what?" Inside, I was still waiting for a team of MP's to come crashing through the door. Batons, stun guns, zip ties, the whole eight point two three meters. 

"You know the first rule of magic potions?" Bridget didn't wait for an answer. "The greater the power --"

As she spoke she was unscrewing the caps, dumping both vials into her cup of water. Before I could speak of even blink she'd taken an enormous breath, pinched her nose shut with her free hand, and tossed her head back. I could hear her throat working, and then an awful noise that made me think it was all about to come back up.

Bridget swayed on her feet, grabbing onto the bars. She looked down at the cup, dangling at the very edge of her fingertips.

"The worse it tastes."

The timbre of her voice was different. Huskier. My throat felt dry as she straightened to her full height, stretching her arms overhead, and it seemed somehow that she was even slightly taller. She looked at me, and grinned like a birthday girl.

Then crouched down, almost to the floor.

It was a perfect display of strength and control. Because she leapt up and practically flew into the air, arching up and back like a diver, arms spread wide as she rose.

Just before she slammed into the ceiling, she stopped. Dead motionless.

I was holding my breath. Then I realized she was actually moving, ever so slightly; floating like one crucified, her face and body a few scant millimeters away from the ceiling of her cell.

I felt light in the head. I couldn't remember to breathe. I just watched as she slowly descended, rotating in the air to float before me. The barest of smug smiles graced her lips.

My lips were dry. "What the hell was that?"

"Just a little pick me up." The smugness was gone, replaced with grim practicality. "It's no Well of the Incarnate, but -- you fight with the army you have."

I blinked a few times, craning my head to look at her from both sides.

"You can fly?"

The look she gave me was half confusion, half pity for the short bus. "You must not have seen much footage."

"I mean with the field going. With -- whatever -- mystical scientific mojo macguffin thing did the...regression. Reversion thing." I threw up my hands in frustration. "On you."

I was starting to recognize that smile on Bridget. It was the one that said she was doing her best not to laugh.

"Technically, it's not flying." She did a slow, lazy somersault. "More like really fast hovering."

"More than I can do," I admitted. I was still on edge, but starting to relax. Either the cameras really were showing mundane illusions in place of reality, or the ops team were biding their time before they burst in. And nobody at Macready's rank had any more patience than they were paid to have.

"Okay." I was already collating this with existing data, working it into my vague notion of an escape plan. Though I should have known she'd be way ahead of me. "Any other tricks I should know about?"

She rose a fraction of an inch, gazing down at me.

"A few."

A howling roar hit my ears. Even as I recognized it as wind I was being lifted, hurled back like a rag doll. Papers were flying everywhere, caught up in the vortex.

I didn't have time to tense up as my body met concrete. I cried out at the pain in my shoulder, even as some part of me registered the cushion of air behind my head, protecting the back of my skull. I was pinned against the wall like a bug, barely able to breathe.

Someone was shouting, pounding on the door. It sounded like Perkins.

The door flew open and Perkins stumbled in. He was clutching his rifle to his chest, squinting against the punishing winds.

"What th--"

The block of ice that formed around him looked even thicker than the one that had incapacitated a full-grown Brute. Crystal clear and diamond-perfect, it had preserved Perkins like a hologram: Still holding onto his sidearm, his face like the rest of him, frozen in surprise.

I hardly noticed that the wind had died down until I slid to the floor with a jarring thud. My shoulder throbbed with every beat of my heart, with each fresh breath in my chest.

"What the fuck did you do?" I croaked. Through the ringing in my ears, I could swear I heard the siren song of an alarm.

"He'll be fine." All of Bridget's patience had vanished. She was up on her toes, clutching the bars, staring at the prisoner just outside her cell. "Trust me, he'll be better than fine. Now where are the --"

Wordlessly, I pointed at the frozen figure of Perkins.

Her eyes followed my finger.

The passcard was clearly visible. Even through half a foot of ice.

Hanging from the lanyard around his neck.


	5. Paragon City: Monster Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A return to civilization. Sort of.

Something like a ringing still echoed in my ears. I was stumbling sideways, shaking my head as my fingers fumbled at my utility belt. I could swear it wasn't real, that the din of the alarm bell was all in my mind.

Bridget was still talking. I found that very inconsiderate, what with trying not to panic.

Trying, and not quite failing.

The laser torch in my hand flared to life. My hand was trembling again. I grabbed my wrist hard, forcing it along the correct path.

"Don't worry." Bridget was watching drops of water form along the surface, rolling slowly downward. "He's cut off. Can't see or hear a thing." 

Her lack of fear should have provided some reassurance. I didn't want to think about why it did nothing of the kind. Perkins stared at me through half a foot of ice, his unblinking eyes rich with betrayal.

The growing hole in the ice had jagged and uneven edges, but I'd placed it well. Another few precious seconds from an alternate angle. Then I reached in and grabbed the laminated keycard, yanking it free from its clasp.

"Shit!" I cradled my hand to my chest, nursing the numb flesh around my hurt.

"No shit." Bridget sounded amused.

The ringing in my ears seemed to have faded. I could swear I kept hearing the far-off sound of an alarm erupt into life. My hand throbbed along with my shoulder, my thoughts a whirlwind. 

"Come on then." She was wearing her sweater again, hair tucked back up in the ponytail. A few bright blue wisps of bangs fell across her face. "We've got two minutes."

What was left of my stomach threatened to seize up. I was standing over the chasm. And I still had no idea how I'd gotten here.

"Two minutes?" I managed not to sound like I was on the verge of passing out.

Bridget didn't bat an eye as she raised her hand again. A chill breeze wafted past me, carried on the slight wiggle of her fingers. I heard a brittle crackling sound before realizing the hole I'd made was now perfectly sealed over.

"Maybe three." Bridget sent a meaningful glance toward the tiny window in the far door. "Can't risk any more if you still want him healthy."

"What'd I say?" I bristled, already on edge. 

"Chill. I promised, right?" Bridget sounded perfectly at ease. "Did the Austrian accent and everything."

My hand wasn't shaking as I watched it reach out. The keycard was sliding down, through the slot in the lock to her cell.

The door slid open with a slight groan.

Bridget strode forth like a conqueror, head held high and proud.

My heart was marching double time as she marched up to the window, peering from one side to the other. Without a word or backward glance she opened the door, beckoning me in her wake.

We crept forth from the makeshift brig -- this definitely qualified as creeping -- and I followed her down the hall, stuck to her like paste. As in not really attached and continuously threatening to come loose. The world shimmered in my sight, as if through a haze of heat. I kept wondering if I was actually feeling the classic signs of dissociation, like when my mom died.

Footsteps echoed around the corner. I was paralyzed, unable to think. Should I --

I felt her hand in mine. Warm, solid and reassuring was the squeeze, as much as the look in her eye.

She held a finger to her lips, arching an eyebrow for emphasis.

Macready's ruddy face appeared from around the corner, followed by the rest of him. I held my breath, back pressed tight against the wall as he swept past us, oblivious to our presence. I continued to hold it until he reached the far end of the hall and turned left, toward the cafeteria.

I looked up into her eyes. Then down at my own body. It was like I'd turned slightly translucent right along with her, whatever sorcery she had conjured leaving us visible only to each other. I realized I was sweating as much from the heat as from sheer nerves.

She leaned in close, almost enough for actual contact. The wispy hairs on my cheek reared up at the tickle of electric current, my ear thrilling at the touch of her breath as well as the sound of her whisper.

"Stay close."

I nodded. Then I held up one finger: _Wait._

I turned away before she could object, ducking around the corner and into Macready's office. As always, he'd left the door open. I was just hoping the gods would be with me twice.

The laptop on his desk was closed. But poking from the side, recognizable instantly by the gold Freedom Phalanx logo, was the flash drive the hero had left behind.

What more could a cheerful sinner ask?

I didn't stop to think about safely disconnecting. I grabbed that sucker, yanked it right the hell out and stuffed it deep in my left thigh pocket, making sure it was sealed good and tight.

Bridget was waiting when I stepped out. Her eyebrows rose again, but she didn't waste any time.

"Front door?" Her voice was low as she pointed south.

I shook my head, indicating the other direction. Again she didn't hesitate, once more taking the lead as if it were second nature.

We scurried past the secretary's office and around another corner. The main entrance to the building was in sight, as was the guard standing before it. I had just enough time to recognize Bosalero's handsome mug when Bridget froze him where he stood, before he could even register our presence. I held back the crazed giggle in my throat as we whooshed past him, flinging the front door wide as we emerged from the building.

I didn't look back as we left the base behind. What was the point? I'd burned my bridges about as thoroughly as one person can. The perpetual crimson sun floated high overhead, the alien sound of the native insects a low and irritating background hum. We ran across the purple grassland at a light jog with my heart on fire, Macready's purloined flash drive burning a hole in my pocket.

An outcropping of rock loomed, towering overhead like a skyscraper thrown off-kilter by some sort of tectonic disturbance. I was still running, going on instinct as my eyes flicked over its surface, searching for the gravity well.

It wasn't there.

I almost froze again as I realized we were on the wrong side of the island. But Bridget wasn't stopping. Accelerating, rather. Her breath was audible now, like a little steam engine as her light jog turned into full on running. Her grip on my hand tightened to actual pain as we

_OH CRAP_

hit the edge of the rock and took the great leap out. Flung ourselves right off the edge, into the void.

Sky spun round me, crimson and violet. Head over heels I tried to hold down breakfast. My hand throbbed, this time with the grip that refused to let go.

I was completing my fourth rotation when we hit the edge of the field. My guts were in an uproar, leaving me near tears with the effort of not spewing. I held on to her hand, barely able to breathe as we continued to drift down toward Firebase Zulu. The approaching ground swam in my vision, and --

We jerked to a halt. Or rather, Bridget hovered in the air and I continued to fall, almost coming loose as we both let out a grunt of pain. Without the low gravity, one or both of us might have dislocated a shoulder.

My head was still spinning as we touched down. I would have fallen to my knees and emptied my guts right there but for the full squad of soldiers not twenty feet away, all sweating and breathing heavy as they powered their way through a set of jumping jacks.

Bridget was guiding me toward the metal ramp of stairs, one hand at my back, the other on my forehead. A light chill emanated from her skin, curling over my own on its way down my face.

Gun turrets surrounded us on all sides as we made our way toward the platform that held the portal back to Peregrine. The pair of guards chatting with the jetpack vendor never missed a word of their discussion as we drifted by them. I realized Bridget was still hovering, her feet a few inches off the ground as she guided me toward the portal.

_No way,_ I thought dimly. There was no way I was going to make it through that thing. Not without hurling the mother of all epic hurls.

Then we were through.

I still felt queasy, but the light wrench to my innards passed so quickly it might have been an illusion. All around us men and women in lab coats bustled to and fro; exchanging clipboards, pointing at tablet screens, fussing over elaborate consoles. The portal behind us quietly groaned and heaved, cables as fat as tree trunks snaking out from behind the spinning metal rings, hooked to massive banks of equipment.

Turning back around, I nearly ran into a pair of junior scientists. Avoiding them earned me a close call with tripping over a zip-tied bundle of cables. I knew I was feeling somewhat better when my first instinct was to swear rather than vomit. From the look on her face, Bridget knew exactly what I was thinking.

Luckily for my poor impulse control ass, her stealth got us up the ramp and out of the room just fine. Although looking back, I had to wonder if any of them would have noticed if we'd waltzed on through without the mist, engrossed in research as they were. Geeks. Who can figure 'em?

Three identical sets of elevator doors greeted us midway down the hall. I'd only been here once before, but I knew we were underground. That left only one way: Up and out.

The door split open, sliding apart in complete silence. I fought the urge to swallow as we walked inside, then gave in. My hand in Bridget's was sweating like mad. I tried not to pull away as I felt increasing moisture on my brow, in my armpits and elsewhere.

Again the doors opened wide. A nearby scientist glanced up as we exited, frowning for a moment and then shaking his head, bending back to his clipboard. I let her lead us, doing my best to quietly sneak along in an increasingly squeaky set of standard issue combat boots.

Then I stopped in my tracks. The metal archway just ahead stretched almost to the ceiling, the desk beside it manned by a security guard who looked bored to death by the book he was currently buried in. With my hawkish farsight at this distance, I was just able to make out the title. Apparently Michael Crichton's latest was out, dealing with the subject of the superpowered.

Even if the flash drive didn't register on the detector, I still had my service weapon. And even if I hadn't been carrying any metal at all, there was no way the guard could fail to see our bodies on the display.

Something tapped my shoulder.

I looked over to find Bridget grinning. She put her finger to her lips again, gesturing up the hall with a tilt of her head. 

My hand felt like it was dripping as we neared the archway. I was still looking at the guard. Bridget was tilting her head again, wearing an expression that said she was ready to open her mouth if I didn't get it.

My eyes flicked back and forth over the gate. I was standing to one side, out of the way of anyone who might try to walk through.

Then I saw the gap on the far side. Bridget was hovering close to it, inching toward it at a snail's pace. When she saw where I was looking she smiled wide, pulling gently at my wrist. And again I followed.

Around the damn security gate.

Like it wasn't even there.

Another cackle tried to fight its way loose from my throat. I wrestled it down as we crossed the lobby, passing the secretary's desk. She looked up with that now-familiar frown, unable to ascertain what was bothering her. Finally she shrugged and returned to the computer, fingers moving a mile a minute transcribing whatever came through her headset.

I didn't look back to see if she noticed the front door opening. I stumbled out into the courtyard, blinded by sunlight brighter than I'd seen in months. Then I nearly fell when Bridget yanked me to one side. I felt and heard someone else walking up the steps, missing us by less than an inch.

My vision began to clear. Everything was blue -- no, red. Wait --

Even as I recognized the flashing police lights for what they were, Bridget was hoisting me into the air. Against every instinct I clung to her with a death grip, forcing myself to let my feet dangle freely. Below the pair of drones continued to pulse their alternating colors, hovering in the air on either side of the door.

My feet found something solid. I stood on quivering legs, testing my balance.

"I told them those things were no good." Bridget made no effort to hide her increasing amusement.

I glared at her, only to realize I was still holding her hand.

"So?" I quickly extracted myself from her grasp, looking around the rooftop. "What now?"

"Quick stop." Bridget nodded toward the edge of the roof. A shimmering spiral of color sprouted forth from the building, warping the space around itself. It looked like a smaller version of the larger portal we had just come through.

"Really?" I had to laugh. "A supergroup?"

Bridget shrugged. "All you need is one good friend."

Before I could protest, she grabbed on to me again. Her other hand reached out to press against the spiral, speaking some arcane string of syllables that made my head hurt.

I fought to keep from passing out as we faded from one place and into the next. Personally I've always been with McCoy on that shit. People weren't meant to fly around in pieces. One of these days my molecules will just scatter, and they won't come back.

The growling in my stomach was enough to make me wonder if my minimal breakfast was now floating around elsewhere in the universe. From the look of our surroundings, I figured I shouldn't expect much in the way of amenities. The place was more cramped than basic training; not much to speak of past a few shabby rooms with cinder block walls. In one corner was a tiny garden with a pool and fountain, the sole concession to aesthetic considerations.

"So who's your friend?" I sent out a cautious probe. "Thought Defense Force declared your persona non grata."

"Someone's been reading up." Bridget pulled open a hidden drawer in the wall, removing a few handfulds of tetrapaks and stuffing them into her sweatshirt. "Yeah, I got a few billion locked away. Untouchable. Assets get seized -- you know how it is."

"So who owns this place?" I asked.

"The Talons of Turanga." Bridget made a face at my resulting expression. "Hey, I'm not the one who came up with it."

She continued to stuff her pockets while I inspected our surroundings. It wasn't that shabby, I decided as I mosied around. On some level it seemed cozy, even welcoming. Still, I found myself apprehensive and vaguely uncomfortable.

"Here." Bridget smirked as I caught the flung packet. "This'll put a porcupine in your pocket."

I inspected the side of the plastic square. Standard issue field medpack; just the thing to provide a crucial hit of health when you need it most. Except there was an extra hint of color around the seal. In what was fast becoming a pattern, I could see both red and blue, each forming half of a circle.

"No transporters?" I couldn't help sounding snarky. It's what you might call ingrained.

"Why bother when you can use the neighbors?" Bridget pulled open another drawer, peering inside with a frown.

"You just told me you can't use the neighbors." I actually didn't sound snarky that time. I had no idea how.

"They don't trust me." Bridget's smile was grim as she finished loading herself up. "I wouldn't trust me."

"Right." I wasn't sure if I was getting a headache. "And I should?"

"You've got no choice." Her statement was flat; her conviction absolute. "No. We take the long way."

"Long way?" I echoed.

"Slow and safe," she confirmed. "So if you need to go? Now's the time."

I followed her pointing finger with a sinking heart.

  


* * *

  


All too soon we were ready to leave. We rematerialized where we had vanished from, on the roof of Portal Corp. I could hear people below milling around in the courtyard. From the sound of it, most of them were on their lunch break.

"Sorry." Bridget made a wry face in response to my stomach's audible protest. We'd scoured the Talons base in vain for any sign of something edible. Beyond a decent stash of pick-me-up potions and the like, nothing with actual caloric content had shown its face.

"I'm good," I lied. Call it a white lie. "Now what?"

Bridget turned her back on me, but not before I saw that now-familiar smirk.

"Now you hop on."

"The hell you say!" I didn't want to argue the point. I wanted to wrap myself around her. I was going to have to. My brain was shorting itself out as I stood there staring at the curve of her back and hips. 

"You're lucky I can take a passenger," she said. "But I'm not going to dangle you all the way there. My arms couldn't take it."

"Softy," I muttered. I exhaled loudly as I stepped forward. My hand came to rest on her shoulder, well above my own. It drove home yet again just how big she was, for a normal-looking person. There were plenty of huge heroes and villains out there, and Bridget wasn't even in the top hundred, from what I could see. But the closer I got to her, the smaller she made me feel.

"Here." She lowered herself to one knee.

Before I could think about getting up the nerve, I just did it. Trying not to think about horse riding and cowgirl outfits almost resulted in a diplomatic incident. If Bridget noticed, she did a wonderful job of pretending not to.

Then I was on, gripping as tight as I dared. She stood up like I wasn't even there.

Slowly, we began to rise.

"How are you with heights?" she inquired.

"Little late for that." I hoped I didn't sound too nervous. Already we were six feet above the roof. The base portal was flaring to life, disgorging a pair of brightly colored fellows who shimmered like two halves of a rainbow. Now they were at least twenty feet below us and I tore my eyes away, fighting the urge to bury my face in the scarf around her neck.

Somewhere along the way we had gone from rising to moving forward, smooth as a baby's bum. Faster, too. I tried to gauge our speed from the wind. Maybe a bit over forty clicks. For you civvies, twenty-five miles an hourish.

I opened my eyes.

We were passing over the bluffs that surrounded the building, following the plateau as it descended to the shoreline. In moments we were out over the bay, nothing but water. The choppy, wind-swept waves that rolled beneath made it seem like we were going faster. Still, I was surprised at my relative lack of fear. I was starting to relax enough to properly enjoy our newfound physical contact. Maybe a little too much.

Then I became fully aware of our heading.

"Excuse me." I cleared my throat, hoping I wouldn't have to spit. "We're not --"

"We are." Her tone was short, the words clipped.

"Ah." I could see myself letting go. Falling into the water; swimming back to shore. Turning myself over to the authorities, like a good little girl.

In my head the footage rolled, the product of multiple debriefings. The two smaller islands north of Peregrine were charmingly referenced by the locals as Monkey Island and Monster Island respectively. Long abandoned by Portal Corporation, left to the ravages of Rikti chimps on the former; pathetic individually, but devastating as a horde. On the latter the enormous minions of Hamidon; living wood and stone, vines and fungi the size of an office building. It took small armies of supers just to contain the damn things, let alone put one down.

"You're crazy," I managed. "You know that."

"I hope you're not always this noisy."

"I can't even enjoy a goddamn double entendre, that's how frickin' spun I am right now --"

"Breathe," she instructed. "Enjoy the fresh air."

I felt light in the head. I imagined the grip in my fingers weakening, my body plummeting headlong into the sea.

"There might still be a working portal in the old labs." Bridget sounded too calm. Like I was a horse she was trying to keep from spooking.

"But they definitely have functioning drones," she continued. "More sophisticated than police models. I'm not fast enough to slip by, and I don't have the power to take them on." I could practically hear the glint in her eye: _Yet._

I shifted my grip and sent a quick look over my shoulder. Maybe it was the light mist that surrounded us, but already the mainland was nowhere in sight.

"I assume you have a plan."

"Underground." An outstretched finger pointed toward the horizon. "There should be a cave on the far shore."

I tried to remember how far it was to the islands. "And if there isn't?"

"I didn't know we had a professional pessimist on the team."

"I don't get paid for that." I licked my lips. Even my tongue was bone dry. 

"What do they pay you for?"

"I'm in the Army," I growled. "We break shit."

"I'll let you know when something needs breaking." She did a little dip and swerve, narrowly missing a startled seagull.

Now I remembered. The hazard zone islands were less than a mile from Peregrine. About two minutes' travel at this speed. It felt like we'd been in the air for less than a minute. Maybe a little more.

"I can't do this." My voice was hoarse. Her body felt warm against me. It felt utterly normal. It felt good.

"You're already doing it." Her hand found its way into mine. "Remember when I said you would hate me? And yourself?"

I couldn't speak. Or I didn't trust my own mouth.

"Stick around." Her breath was coming short again, sounding like she'd just run a mile. I couldn't tell if I was imagining a slight wobble in her flight. "See if you can find a reason not to."

An icy eel wriggled and coiled in my guts as the shape of an island began to coalesce. I could see the shoreline taking form, the trees and hills beyond. And even at this distance, something moving on the beach.

"I found a reason not to go this way." My tongue felt like it had gone numb from fear. "It's called a survival instinct."

"Please stop talking until we're inside."

I wasn't about to ignore such obvious helpful advice. Not with the gargantuan figures that lumbered back and forth on the shoreline, growing ever closer in my sight. More to the point, for the first time since meeting this woman I now thought I heard actual, genuine tension.

Monsters, I thought. Sensible enough. Check.

_What else are you afraid of?_

Our course remained as steady as my grip on her shoulders. That is, mostly. Bridget kept making minor microadjustments to her flight path as the immense figures grew ever larger in our sight. Already passing quickly underneath us, the swarming horde of gargantua that covered the small outcropping made it appear even tinier. It reminded me of the lump of clay a foot across that stuck out of the water near my dad's favorite fishing spot. My eight-year old self had insisted on calling it an island, just so I could name it.

(I'm sure it will come as no surprise that I christened my new holding Clay Island. Imagination was never my strong suit.)

We were already halfway across the island, floating well above even the tallest of its inhabitants. I was still sweating despite the breeze, waiting for a hand the size of a car to reach up and pluck us out of the air before crushing us to pulp in its fist.

The little bit of grasslands we had passed over was fading. The far beach was now visible, occupied by a single enormous mushroom. I swallowed as I realized we were heading straight for it.

I was on the verge of snapping her collarbone with my grip. Then I saw the nearby hill, the door in its side half-covered in overgrowth. The choking vines nearly obscured the municipal logo of Paragon City. Whatever else this was, it was some kind of official.

I would have asked, but it seemed like a bad time. We were past the sand now, touching down on solid rock that left no trace of our passing. I held my breath as Bridget raised her hand.

My heart rose in my throat at the muffled sound of a mechanism's click. Mere yards away the mushroom cocked its head, pausing. Then it turned its blank and eyeless face to the sky, as if enjoying the light of the sun.

I tore my gaze away from the fifty-foot fungus in time to see the door wide open, with Bridget disappearing inside. I followed as quickly as I could without making a sound, feeling a little draft as the door swung shut.

A dull red flicker sprang to life. I blinked away the afterburn, waiting for my eyes to adjust. The glow came from emergency lights enclosed in protective metal cages, mounted on the rough stone walls.

"This way."

I wanted to stop and think. But more than that, I wanted to put more distance between me and the land of walking death outside. It was all too easy for me to picture one of those things plunging its hand through the door, straight down through the earth itself.

I followed Bridget down the slightly sloping path, noting that she was bearing to the left. This remained true every time we came to a junction. The passages were long, the distance between the lights just far enough to raise my hackles before the next one appeared. The constant downward slope coincided with the air around us growing cooler, bringing a chill to my skin.

The light ahead was changing from red to yellow. I was straining my ears for the slightest trace of other sounds when we emerged into another chamber, this time with smoothly polished walls. A ring of safety lamps surrounded us to illuminate the rest of the room: A platform with a railcar, and a control panel to one side. The rail beneath stretched forward, disappearing into darkness.

I contemplated the darkness as Bridget stepped onto the platform and bent over the panel. She fiddled with the controls for a moment before speaking.

"How are your computer hacking skills?"

I didn't have to think. "Every time I surf I get a virus."

She turned and looked at me over her shoulder. "Then what do you do?"

"I throw out my computer and buy a new one."

She let out a sigh that turned to a grunt, cracking her neck to one side. "Plan B it is."

I watched her sit down and cross her legs. As I watched she slowly rose into the air, hands on her knees, palms facing up as she faded from sight.

I couldn't help sounding nervous. "You're still there, right?" 

A low chuckle came out of the air before me. I was sweating again. Then I realized the temperature and humidity were quickly rising. In seconds the little room was a sauna, the fog condensing into droplets on every surface.

"I know my reputation." Bridget's disembodied voice hadn't moved. "Everyone calls me a frigid bitch. But really..."

A shower of sparks erupted from the control panel. I had time to be surprised that I hadn't jumped out of my skin when there was a loud _clack_. Looking at the side of the railcar, I could see the locking arm had been released.

Bridget faded back into existence, wearing the tiniest of smirks.

"I can be quite warm."

I had just enough time to think before I said it anyway. "And wet?"

That at least got another chuckle as she extended her legs and touched down. I watched her turning away from me, stepping up onto the platform as if to climb inside the little car. When she stopped and looked back at me, I was still staring at the missing far wall. From the slight sound of the echoes, the feel of the air, I could tell that pitch-black void was huge. And it went on damn near forever.

"Afraid of the dark?"

"That depends." She hadn't sounded overly accusatory, so I wasn't overly defensive. More like appropriately.

The smirk was back. "On?"

I looked her in the eye. "If there's light at the end of the tunnel." 

"Heh." She lifted her chin with a smile, beckoning me forward.

"Can I say I don't want to go on the cart?"

A knowing eyebrow greeted my British accent. "As long as you do it anyway."

"That pretty much takes the fun out of it." With more trepidation than ever before, I slowly stepped up onto the platform. Then I remembered I had no idea how deep we actually were. As well as my visions of the monsters above digging into the hillside to rip us out. I wasn't sure if what we were doing qualified as defiling the Earth, but it was just the sort of thing these beasts wouldn't take the time to debate.

I clambered over the side and lowered myself into a corner. The car was a little dusty, but otherwise clean and dry. I was going to have to find a set of warmer clothes.

"How long is this trip?" I wondered if I should shut my eyes before we left the light behind. "And if you shorted out the power --"

"We're going sailing."

It took me a second. "Wind power."

Another chuckle accompanied the sound of a rising wind. It butted against the car, pushing it loose from its moorings. Already the light was almost gone.

"Talk to me." Bridget's voice echoed all around, swallowed up by the dark. The breeze was the only indication that we were moving. The wheels were greased or frictionless, rotating with barely a whisper; the vibration of their contact with the rail a mere subsonic hum that blended in with the sound of the wind.

"Talk to you." I waited until I could continue without laughing. I didn't know how it would sound. "Right."

"Why'd you help me?"

"You sound like you already know." I allowed a little resentment to shine through.

"Pretty sure." Resigned she might be, Bridget was also highly amused. Damned entertained despite herself.

I tried to envision what lay ahead. I kept coming up blank.

"So you won't believe me if I say it seemed like the right thing to do?"

A snort in the darkness. "There's no great reward at the end of the rainbow."

"My dad always said the journey is its own reward." _Dad_. I had to see him --

"No offense." Bridget's quiet certainty cut right through my rumination. "But I don't see much reward for some kid born in a dumpster hooked on Super."

I couldn't help but scoff. "You do know most of that shit is a myth, right?"

"I've probably taken more of that shit than you could shovel in one lifetime." Her voice was heavy; weary of the world and all its works. "Believe me, I know what it can do."

"She blinded me with science." I let out a chuckle of my own. "So why drugs?"

"If you want power?" Her tone brooked no argument. "You go where the power is. Whether it's a test tube, or a mystic goblet of enchanted brewski."

I let out an involuntary bark of laughter. "You're pulling my leg."

"Hey, you're talking to a girl who drank from the Well of the Incarnate." I could almost hear the shrug. "Not like that's an exclusive club any more."

I was about to ask if she was serious before I remembered the folder, that look in the hero's eye. In the darkness my fingers crept to my pocket, squeezing until I located the stolen flash drive.

I posed the question. "So you do what it takes?" 

Again I could hear her smirk. "That's a trick question if I ever heard one."

I could tell our path was shifting from straight ahead to slightly curved. I was trying to figure our new heading, and where it was taking us, but I kept nodding off. Or at least that was what it felt like until I jerked myself into wakefulness with an audible gasp.

"You all right?" Bridget sounded attentive, if not too concerned.

"I need sleep." It came out plaintive before I could stop it. All my worry and frustration, mostly from sheer lack of knowing, had been bottled up for so long. Now it was on the verge of overflow. I knew it took days to get to that stage, but I was starting to have paranoid visions of opening up my soul to my Stockholm sweetheart in my sleepless state, in an outpouring of unadulterated babble.

"You're not the only one." Her voice was strained, as if from prolonged exertion. "Still too weak."

"So what's the deal?" I cast back to her brief captivity, the smuggled potion. "You need more of that stuff?"

"Diminishing returns." Her dismissal was confirmed by ber next words. "For best results -- I need a different formula every step of the way."

I thought again of the footage I'd seen. The alien Rikti; the colossal Hamidon.

"And the real goal?" I ventured.

"What do you mean?" She sounded genuinely curious.

I took a deep breath. "What do you do with all that power?"

For a long time there was near-silence, as we continued to move. At least it felt like we were moving. I suddenly realized we were in an underwater tunnel. No matter which direction we were going, most of the journey would be under the floor of the bay. No wonder it was getting chilly.

"Don't worry," Bridget said. "We should be almost there."

Her attempt at reassurance was cold comfort. Pun intended. It felt like years later that she was shaking me by the shoulder.

I sat up to feel us coasting to a slow stop. The car came to rest, gently bumping into something. I could barely make out a faint light. Looking at the walls, it looked like it came from patches of moss that glowed in the dark.

"We walk the rest of it." Bridget's voice came from outside the railcar, the outline of her body almost invisible. "Watch your feet." 

"You sound more tired than I feel." I accepted her hand and clambered out of the car. "At least I got some shuteye."

A grunt came from the darkness. "No rest for the wicked."

"Where are we?"

"Astoria."

The bottom dropped out of my stomach.

"Ghost town?" I had to force the words from my mouth.

A grim chuckle, as she gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "And you wonder why no one comes this way."


	6. Paragon City: Dark Astoria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More powers, more possessions, and more paranoia.

I stared at the door made of wooden planks, overgrown with moss. Its hinges were barely visible in the dim orange light of the single emergency bulb on the wall. They were overgrown themselves, with a thick coating of rust.

I felt utterly paralyzed. Whatever part of the human body that constitutes the mind -- soul? Whatever -- was frozen solid in me. Along with all the rest of it, right down to the blood in my veins. I wasn't entirely sure if I was even conscious.

Then a sharp pain erupted between my shoulder blades. It forced the remaining air from my lungs in a barking cough. I drew a shuddering breath and turned my head to glare at the person responsible.

"I'm going out there." Bridget nodded at the door. "The only question is whether you're coming with me."

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. It took a few tries. I stared at her, trying to come up with something clever.

"You can do this."

The iron in her eyes had become true steel. From the look on her face, she was a short hair away from grabbing and forcibly dragging me out of our little hiding place. And the images that were flashing through my mind, of every report from this part of town over the past year and a half, were seeming like more than enough motivation for me to resist. Though who could tell what other dirty tricks she had up her sleeve.

"Stay close." Her fingers wove into mine, squeezing tight.

"The heart of Spook Central?" I felt like I should be hyperventilating. My already rapid heart rate was threatening to rise further still. "This is how you escape?"

The light dimmed, as her hand came in contact with the door.

A faint squeak of timber vanished into the darkness as we stepped forth from the dank enclosure of the cave. The air was equally as moist as the underground we'd spent the last few hours traveling through, but far less stale. As my eyes adjusted I could sense an enormous wall at our back, rising far overhead. A light breeze carried the faintest hint of dead flowers and fresh smoke.

I cast my gaze about, searching for the fire. It had to be close.

Then the clouds parted. The moon shone down full, making me blink.

We were at the bottom of a valley. All around us rose walls of marble, a rock path stretching away to either side. I recognized the Gothic architecture in a heartbeat.

We were in the middle of the goddamn cemetery.

Bridget pointed to a crude set of stone steps carved into the wall. My vocal cords remained paralyzed, and she turned an expectant eye upon me.

"We need to move." Her quiet tone was absolute, with an edge of impatience. "Don't worry. Anything short of _giant_ zombies, I'll --"

I waited. Her mouth was slightly open, her brow furrowed in seeming puzzlement. And something more that made me turn and look at where her gaze had fallen.

The smoke was thin, but the breeze was enough to send it drifting toward us, crawling over the ground in little swirls. A group of bare-chested men were clustered around the fire, their bodies gleaming with intricately painted symbols, all but one on their knees as they repeatedly prostrated themselves before a great translucent mask that hovered within the flames. Their leader writhed under the blind gaze of the _loa_; his head thrown back, mouth open, arms held out to either side as if crucified.

I couldn't remember the name of this particular cult. But I remembered their deeds.

Then I looked back at Bridget. Her dark grey skin was pale in the moonlight, her eyes widening the merest fraction as she surveyed the group of cultists.

"Okay." Bridget's voice was barely audible. "Maybe not."

The dryness in my mouth was growing excruciating. "Not what you expected?"

Her eyes met mine for the briefest of moments. In that split second I saw real and open fear, naked and true.

"It's been a while."

For once, I couldn't think of a smartass reply.

"I can't protect you. Or myself." Bridget shook her head. "Not like this."

That one didn't seem to have a reply, smartass or otherwise.

The steps were cold beneath my feet. I could feel it seeping through my boot leather, through my steel-toed soles, leeching the heat from my bones. I didn't ask why Bridget wasn't hovering. Probably conserving her strength to keep us hidden.

Shadows flickered up and down the canyon walls, the low chanting of the ritual gradually fading in our ears as we ascended in a constant curve along the path. My head was spinning, and I tried to distract myself by pinpointing our location on a mental map of the city. Astoria was just east of Talos, but the cemetery was on the furthest edge away from the gate. The thought of crossing all that territory, even hovering above the fray, was enough to send a spasm through my already clenching gut. The cultists had been bad enough before they got beefed up beyond all previous levels, and more groups had subsequently muscled their way into the dead city to compete for territory and spiritual power.

I fought the urge to clear my throat. Bridget paused, looking down at our joined hands, then back at me. We had crested the lip of the canyon, plains and rolling hills stretching out into darkness.

The surrounding landscape was covered in tiny points of flame. In fact, the more I looked, the more seemed to become apparent in my sight. To our left lay a stone crypt, while behind us a gigantic spine rose out of the valley, aimed at the sky. Its wet and leathery surface was covered with smaller protruding spikes.

"Problem?" Her tone wasn't icy, but it definitely wasn't chill.

"Aren't you..." I tried and failed to come up with a suitable euphemism.

"Going the wrong way?" A sardonic eyebrow from Bridget dashed my fragile hopes once more upon the rocks.

I pointed in what I figured to be a westerly direction. Only to have my less than sane companion shake her head once more, pointing in precisely the opposite.

At least the ground was easier to walk on. If the sun had been out, I might have been tempted to strip off my boots. I don't think most dead folks would mind the living ones enjoying themselves by running barefoot through the grass. But in Astoria, the dead had always lain uneasy at best.

Bridget was carefully picking her way through the maze of fires, constantly altering the course of her path to maintain maximum distance from them. The chill in the air was slight, but the breeze that would have been refreshing in the light of the sun now threatened to sap the waning strength from my quivering muscles.

"Relax." Her voice was lower than ever. "You're making it worse."

"There's a straight line for you," I muttered.

I had to swallow again as she shifted right, heading us uphill in the shadow of a huge walkway. It didn't just resemble a segment of spinal column. More spines erupted from the earth all around, alternating with what looked like lace wings webbed in red and black. The moon itself seemed outright hostile toward our presence, its light a pale, bloody hue that cast crimson shade over everything in sight.

A shadow loomed ahead. As we approached, I realized its size.

"You _are_ crazy," I whispered. The bulky, jagged form was growing clearer, much to my regret. An enormous and eyeless head that was half mouth, its jaws dripping with teeth.

"I'm more worried about that." Bridget nodded, indicating the mad priest in our path. This one was surrounded by a mob of bugs rather than his fellow men. Except these bugs were the size of dogs. And not the small annoying kind. They scurried about his feet, clacking their mandibles as he bowed before the open maw.

"So?" I pointed left. "Treat him like a metal detector."

Bridget glanced sharply at me. A slow, reluctant smile spread over her face. Even in the unromantic lighting, it could have been taken as an invitation. If I hadn't had other priorities.

I followed, clambering up and onto a ledge of stone that looked like bone. I hoped it wasn't the other way around. I wasn't holding my breath.

A firm and fleshy ridge rose up before us. That was definitely a tongue, and it made it impossible to deny or ignore what we were doing. I felt numb well beyond the point of fear. The vast mouth loomed in our sight, beckoning within.

"Stay with me." Bridget stared into the black hole. "And don't say a word."

My feet weren't moving. Bridget gave a little pull on my hand, her gaze as urgent as it was silent. But I couldn't touch that thing. Not with a Naked Gun-style full body condom would I --

She half-shoved, half-lifted me as she rose from the ground. As a result, I nearly ran into the tongue face-first. I regained my footing in time to half-walk, half-stumble up and over the side, down into the valley in the center. The barest breath of air came from the gaping cavern. It smelled ancient and stale.

My grip on her hand must have been painful, but she was giving as good as she got. The weight of my gun at my side was less than nothing for reassurance. I was one of the many who preferred the new Sigs with a .357 assembly, rather than the default nine millimeter. Though any handheld weapon would have been less than a flea against the giant monsters of the Hamidon, I would at least have trusted a nuke to do some damage. For the demon god whose belly I was about to enter, I wouldn't even trust that.

The little outside light was fading fast. My boots kept sinking just slightly into the soft and increasingly squishy surface. A light mist was rising from all around, but the dark rose faster. It swallowed everything, leaving us in absolute void.

_YoU_

It wasn't a voice. Just a single word reverberating through my soul. It made the probing mental needles of the Rularuu feel like a mother's loving arms.

_dArE_

I would have hurled if I had a stomach. I might have still been holding onto Bridget's hand. Every part of my being had seized up, frozen in a rictus of unreasoning dread.

Somewhere, someone spoke.

"You know I do."

My eyes might be blinking. I saw nothing.

_...yOu._

The crushing hammer eased up a tad. Breathing was still a memory.

"Me."

I knew that voice.

"And you're back in the physical plane?" A tiny sigh, swallowed by the void. "You know that just makes it easier to kick your ass."

I felt the darkness quiver. I couldn't tell if it was fear, or laughter.

_i SeE nO lEaGuE._ And yet the confidence of the statement felt imperfect. _nO aRmY oF iNcArNaTe. MeReLy A sInGlE...rEdUcEd To NaUgHt._

"And?"

I couldn't shrink away. Or hold my nonexistent breath, as the universe did the same.

_AnD dEbTs ShAlL bE pAiD._

The voice had grown louder, a painful ringing in my metaphysical ears.

_tAkE yOuR pItIfUl GiFtS_

If the void could have been described as black, this was white. For one brief moment, everything was its polar opposite.

_aNd Go_

As if from far away, I heard someone choking.

The light faded, leaving me on my knees. I jerked upright and pulled my hands away in disgust, gagging at the feel of the 'floor'. The brief glimpse of our surroundings was a sight to chill the bones.

A hand grabbed onto mine. Arms were picking me up.

I knew that smell. Like fresh blooming lilacs, after the rain.

I buried my face in her neck.

We shot out of the mouth of Mot like we'd been fired from a cannon. Except there was no explosion. Just a grunt of effort from Bridget, and the wind on my scalp. My stomach did a flip and nearly hit the eject as the ground flew away beneath us.

Then I realized I actually had a stomach. Physical reality was real once more.

This fully sank in right as we reached the arc of her jump.

I raised my head and took in the view of Paragon's dark city, from the flickering flames that dotted the landscape to the patchy wisps of fog that obscured the tops of the tallest buildings. Thankfully I was too mesmerized to scream when we started to fall, heading straight toward the growing and topmost point of a radio tower. Its pinnacle was a blinking red smear, leaving me more than enough time to visualize us being impaled on the antenna. Somehow, this wasn't long enough to brace for impact.

Which turned out to be nothing. Nothing but another grunt from Bridget as we landed, she crouched down and then leapt again. My breath caught in my chest, left far behind as we soared to new heights. For a moment I thought we might go into orbit. No way we were close to supersonic, but it damn sure felt faster than almost any super I'd ever seen.

We hit the top of the arc and started down once more. Fast approaching a large flat rooftop, decorated with little green flares and as we landed my eyes went wide at the sight of a circle of zombies. Their morbid grunts and groans filled my ears, the sickly light of their torches illuminating a hapless victim hanging in the air.

As one, they turned their rotting heads toward us.

I was ready to scream when we were off and away again, leaving the horrid tableau far behind. By the time we landed I was gasping for air. I barely barely realized she was putting me down until my knees nearly gave out beneath me.

"Take a minute." Her hand was strong on my shoulder. I waved her off, even as I thought about how badly I wanted a drink. Of whiskey or water, I wasn't sure. Probably both.

A faint glow was visible over the line of buildings that formed a darkened silhouette on the horizon. With a host of heroes and occasional fellow travellers providing assistance, the group known as Vanguard had managed to carve out a tiny piece of the newly awakened spirit realm, establishing a thin strip of civilization on the edge between Talos and Astoria. It served as a beacon and haven for the benefit of the living who dared to venture within.

If that light really was the outpost, my estimation of this woman's power had taken a quantum leap of its own. From the farthest corner to within sight of the gate in just a hop, skip and a jump.

I looked over at Bridget. I couldn't see her face in this dim light but I could tell she was craning her neck, looking all around.

"Lose something?"

I regretted it the moment I said it. Hardly the first time, but I was playing for higher stakes.

A small sarcastic snort. "Just my way."

She strode to the edge of the roof, grabbing the railing to lean out and look down. "I know we're close."

I thought to hazard a bit of humor. "That sounds like a but."

"But it's hard to recognize landmarks without the fog."

I was still admiring the smoothness of her response when it sunk in. "Huh?"

"I know it might be hard to understand for you youngsters --"

Even if I couldn't see it, I could hear the twinkle.

"But back in my day, this place had a lot more fog."

"Okay, Grandma." Again I demonstrated my enthusiasm for self-ownership. Bridget's only response was to chuckle at my obvious skepticism.

"Wait --" She snapped her fingers, turning and walking over to the other side of the roof. "There."

She sounded confident enough. I was hoping it would rub off on me until I realized and winced at my own entendre. My eyes had adjusted enough that I could discern more of her shape, and a shapely shape it was.

"That window." She pointed directly below us. I leaned out for a look.

"The one that's all bricked over?"

"What the --" Bridget growled and hopped over the side before I could utter a word. Floating in midair, she drew closer, squinting at the wall with a growing look of anger.

"Bitch." The muttered curse fell hard from her tongue.

"You know who's reponsible?"

"Probably." She dismissed this with a wave of her hand. "Like it matters. All right, you..."

She fell to more muttering as her fingers caressed the rough surface. I could feel a chill drifting upward, see tendrils of vapor snaking their way down the side of the building. A growl was rising when I recognized it as the brittle sound of something cracking.

With a hum of satisfaction, Bridget reached out and gave the wall a poke.

A raucous clatter was the result. It nearly put me out of my skin as every single brick tumbled down, bouncing off the wall, echoing through the streets and alleyways. Most of them landed in or on the rusting dumpster tucked up against the building, causing even more ruckus. The remnants of mortar crumbled and swirled away on the wind, reduced to powder.

"Shoot!" Bridget sounded genuinely worried rather than embarrassed. "Inside, inside --"

A perilous couple of moments ticked by as she struggled with an obviously sticky sash. I was waiting for the groan of a zombie to come out of the darkness when a resounding squeak rang out that felt like it pierced both my eardrums. The song of humid and swollen wood was accompanied by more cursing from Bridget, along with the banging of her fist on the frame until the wood gave way once more. It advanced just over halfway before coming to a halt, stuck fast.

"Move it, move it --"

"Move yourself," I snarled back. I was certainly moving, though. I scrambled over the edge and lowered my toes, allowing Bridget to guide me as I slid through the open window.

I hit the floor rolling, coughing at the light cloud of dust raised by my passage. Covering my mouth helped, but I was still fighting a sneeze. I tucked my chin into my chest and breathed through my nose as a crackle and chill came from the far wall.

When my vision cleared it was completely black. Until Bridget slowly faded into view, limned in soft and golden light. Her expression was grim, but more relaxed than I'd seen since her initial capture.

"Where are we?" I kept my voice low, hoping I wasn't committing another _faux pas_.

"One of my many safehouses." Bridget nodded at the window. The entire frame was now filled with a solid rectangular slab of ice.

I eyed the lines of moisture trickling toward the floor. "How long will that last?"

"Long enough." She turned away, indicating a door on the far wall. "This way."

"Safehouse." I followed in her wake, trying not to step on her heels. "Like CIA?"

"Same concept." Bridget guided me down the hallway, the dim glow from her body illuminating the narrow space. "Different outfit."

"Right." I allowed myself a touch of sarcasm. "Because you've been in so many different groups."

"I always stayed independent." A quick response. It didn't sound too defensive, but this was clearly sensitive territory.

I tried a gamble. "What about the Talons?"

A snort was my only response. Bridget had stopped in front of a door. I could see the hall continue onward, fading into darkness. I was expecting a room of some sort beyond the door. An office maybe, or a laboratory.

Instead I got a closet. The light from Bridget was barely enough to allow me to see her kneel and shove a cardboard box to one side, probing at the floorboards underneath. I stood back and watched as she removed one after another, peering into the resulting hole.

"Give me a hand with this."

'This' turned out to be a Titanic-era steamer trunk that was big enough to hold a body. Thankfully, it didn't weigh enough for one. Then I thought about how long it might have been sitting.

Bridget reached out and took the massive padlock in one hand. In less than five seconds it was an ice cube, that shattered under a single kick from her booted foot. I was on edge six ways from Sunday, wondering whether I should back away, when I saw what she was lifting out of the chest with an almost reverent look on her face.

"Come on." She hoisted her burden and stood, beckoning me to follow. "Should be candles in the bedroom."

"And a waterbed?" I was still jittery as hell, searching for anything familiar to latch onto. Self-destructive snark had always been my specialty. I didn't see any reason to stop now.

_And you don't see the slightest bit wrong with that?_

I shoved away the protest, pushed it back down in the depths of my subconscious where I'd known it had been all along. If I started making a list of everything that was wrong, I'd still be writing when they inevitably carted me off to a maximum security cell of my own.

_Nothing's inevitable._

Well, I thought. If I'm going to talk to myself, I'd rather hear a motivational speech than the voice of doom.

I came back to the sound of rustling. A match flared into life, illuminating Bridget as she lowered the flame to a candle atop a wooden dresser. The room wasn't large; as my sight came into focus and the flickering shadows died back down, I could see just enough space to walk around the bed. A single, not a queen.

Bridget laid out what she was carrying on the bed, then stepped back to admire. I had to say I was right there with her. It wasn't every day you saw an antique set of Roman armor in mint condition. I was no expert, but it looked complete right down to the last greave and pauldron. The metal was suffused with shimmering hues of black and blue, matching her own coloring to perfection.

She lifted her arms, pulling her sweater over her head, tossing it into a chair in the corner. As she knelt to remove her boots, I realized my tongue was tying itself in knots.

Somehow I kept breathing. Somehow I remained silent as her pants came off and followed the sweater. She stood before me in a pair of black briefs and a few stray wisps of fog of her own. I was this close to reaching out and grabbing a handful.

Then I slammed that urge down. The vein in my forehead throbbed as I stood there, trying to look like I wasn't ready to cut a bitch.

It got a little easier as I watched Bridget don her armor. Piece by piece it came together, looking more impressive with each addition. She was finished before I could think I should have gotten a better peek. She was built slim for a woman so tall, but the skirt revealed some decent muscle in her thighs.

"Sweet." I watched on as she looked herself over. "So what does that do?"

"It makes me look even cooler." Bridget was squinting again, leaning closer to examine the detailed engravings on her forearm. "Dammit."

"What is it?" I tried not to imagine the worst.

A note of wry humor. "Need my glasses."

I opened my mouth, before deciding against whatever I'd been about to say. Maybe I was learning.

I watched her walk over to the dresser and open the top drawer, rummaging inside. "You're not worried about being recognized?" 

"I might be." The smirk in her voice was less restrained this time. "If I was worried about being seen."

I had to chuckle as her concealing mist dissipated, our bodies returning to full solidity.

"I earned this." Bridget stood tall and proud, with an iron gaze. "And the right to wear it."

I was about to say something else. It turned into a yawn.

"Come on, soldier." I could hear the amusement in her voice. "Figured you were going to need another nap."

"What about you?" I was standing up, her hand on my arm as she guided me over to the bed.

"I'm fine."

There was that smell again. Lilacs, and fresh spring rain.

"Don't worry about me."

If I dreamed, I didn't remember.

  


* * *

  


When I woke, my field watch said that less than five hours had passed. Bridget had thrown a blanket over me. An electric blanket.

"Mm." I tried not to sound too disappointed as I sat up and peeled back the covers. "You have power here?"

"An excellent question." Bridget gave a self-aware chuckle.

"I'm known for those." I allowed myself a subtle smirk of my own. 

"Sort of." She held up a cylinder in her hand about two feet long. "Though we are off the grid."

The bar was metal, and shiny. I followed a cord dangling from it, with a three-prong outlet at the other end where my blanket was plugged in.

"So are you ever going to get some rest?" I tried not to sound like a nag. "Or is that another one of your powers?"

"I'm fine." It was true; she didn't sound snippy, or look haggard. "I can do this in my sleep."

I found myself growing irritated again. Not at her for acting thoughtful. At myself, for how I was reacting.

I still didn't know why I was doing any of this. It sure as hell wasn't to get laid.

I cast about for a neutral topic. "So is there anything here that can do more than make you look cool?"

"That's more than enough."

The determined tone in her voice at least outweighed her clear irritation. You could hear the implication plain as day, though.

"Not going to hide forever." I made it not a question.

"Depends." She continued to bustle about, stuffing various items into a small army green backpack.

I took the bait. "On what?"

She stopped and gave me the Eyebrow.

"If they let me."

I mulled that over while she tidied up, wiping away every last trace of our presence. The room where we had entered now had a sizable puddle under the window, the block of ice hanging slightly crooked.

"Watch your fingers."

She didn't have to warn me. I was already regretting it as we stepped back, barely able to set the block on the floor without dropping it. I shook my hand like I was trying to shake off water, grimacing in pain at the burn. Bridget was leaning out the window, peering from side to side.

"Okay." She put her hands together, nodding to me. "I'll give you a boost up to the roof."

I tried not to think about her looking at my ass while I climbed out, grabbed on and clambered up. I was not thinking about it so hard, in fact, that I didn't see what was standing on the other side of the roof. Not until Bridget rose up and floated down to stand beside me. Her eyes went huge as she looked over my shoulder, at whatever was directly behind me.

I turned my head to see a ten-foot "totem", as some called them. An enormous stylized _voudon_ mask for a face, the rest of its body was a barely held together collection of spindly wooden sticks. On either side of it stood a normal sized zombie, oozing with worms. All three of them appeared to be sniffing the air.

Then they turned, and looking directly at us.

"Oh, crap!"

I heard Bridget swear as the totem lurched into motion, its empty eye sockets alight with green fire. The two smaller zombies were likewise heading for us, their decaying jaws dripping with undead saliva.

Bridget stepped forward, swinging her axe

(Where did _that_ come from?)

and cleaving one of the zombies in half. A ghostly glow suffused its divided form as it opened its ruined mouth. Rather than a scream, it merely out a groan, almost a sigh of relief as it crumbled into a heap of bone and flesh.

The totem was still lumbering toward us.

Bridget raised her hand.

A white circle opened up beneath the totem, quickly spreading on all sides until it was nearly six feet across. It sparkled and gleamed in the moonlight, little diamonds reflecting off its surface.

The totem stopped, wobbling on its feet. Then it made the mistake of trying to walk again.

I nearly burst out laughing as a ten-foot tall living voodoo doll fell flat on its wooden ass. Already it was trying to clamber to its feet. Except every time it would slip and fall again, shaking the entire building with the force of its landing.

"Come on!"

She didn't have to tell me twice. But where was she? Which way did she go --

_"Just jump!"_

I had never put blind trust in anyone. Not even Dad.

I turned and ran. Top speed straight for the edge, hurling myself into space.

The swirling winds caught me, bore my body up. For a moment I was too heavy. I teetered on the edge, ready to fall.

Then she had me. I grabbed on with all my might, taking huge gulps of air.

We were rising up, into the star-filled perpetual night sky. I was on the verge of crying with relief.

I was a traitor.

I was insane.

And I was beginning to be a believer.


	7. Paragon City: Talos Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back among the normal people, Ripley's feeling anything but normal.

Getting back to civilization wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Not when you were a fugitive from military justice. Which if you think the regular kind is all that, I hope you never have the bad luck to experience.

And as crazy as it sounded, getting caught felt like the least of my worries.

We'd made it to the safety of the Bulwark in short order, passing through the gate without so much as a blink of an eye from the guards stationed on either side. Though I didn't see the ones on the Talos side at first. After spending close to twenty-four hours in the artificial night of Astoria, I was damn near blinded by the normal midday sun. I held onto Bridget's hand and kept walking, just like I'd been doing all along. Trust in the process.

Except I was beginning to chafe.

I had always been the annoying one who couldn't turn off her brain. The kid who asked the uncomfortable questions had become the teen who knew everything, who in turn had grown into the hardened and jaded twenty-something we all knew and loved. Dad had been the one constant thing, supporting me every step of the way; always there to listen to my tales of heartbreak and woe before gently but firmly bringing me back around to something resembling sanity. You had to go far and wide to find a more old school minimal government conservative than my dad, especially in a liberal enclave like Paragon. But when I'd swallowed my pride and gone with the military option -- literally trading my foreseeable freedom for some measure of financial security -- I don't think any parent has ever been more proud. He'd pulled his one and only suit out of mothballs to attend my graduation, and it looked just as good on him the day he saw me off on my first tour of duty.

I had to see him. And I had no idea what I was going to say. Especially after not just going AWOL, but actively aiding and abetting a wanted super. Dad was all about the rights of the individual. But when you swore an oath, in Dad's book, you didn't go back on it. And if you did, you probably never meant it in the first place.

I clung to Bridget in silence as we hovered across the bay. The warm sun on my face, the wind through my increasingly stubbly hair, all conspired to lull me into a state of relaxation. And yet all of my obsessive compulsion remained, focused on trying to figure out what the hell I thought I was doing. And why.

We descended and set down along a ridge of hills looking out over the water. I quickly dismounted and stepped back as Bridget fell back into the grass, her eyes closed, breathing deep.

"Jesus." I affected mild outrage. "Make me feel fat."

An exhausted chuckle was my only reply as I surveyed her prone form. She was back in street clothes, the suit of armor apparently relegated to whatever dimensional pocket one used to store one's spare outfits when one was a super. Seriously, these guys were all clothes hounds. It was like they all learned the same set of starter spells.

We were on the edge of town, where the commercial development and paved roads began. In the distance where we had come from, over the bay, I could just see the dark line of the gate to Astoria that broke up the otherwise solid length of the War Wall. The massive slabs of concrete were topped with force fields and powered by purloined alien tech. Years after the invasion that spawned them, they still separated each part of the city from the other, even in peacetime.

"Well then." Bridget's tone was casual, but her words froze me where I stood. "Time for you to make a choice."

"What do you mean?" I sounded too nervous.

She clambered to her feet with a slight grunt. Then she rose into the air and vanished.

"Hey!" Now I sounded on the verge of panic. I stared about the now empty hillside. I could hear the lap of waves on the shoreline, the sound of traffic coming from the next block over.

"I've got somewhere to be." Her disembodied voice came from behind. Or was it above? "This is your chance to walk away. Turn yourself in, strike out on your own -- do whatever you want. Understand?"

"I --" My hand clamped over my mouth. I forced myself to breath slowly, holding onto every scrap of anger and confusion.

"So if I really can't get rid of you --" A sigh rippled through the air. "Meet me at the coffee joint on Ipswich and Grand. You've got three hours."

I frowned as my fear turned to more confusion. "You mean the brewpub?"

A growl of frustration. "Fine, yes, I have been away. Where's a decent place to get coffee that's _not_ in the damn middle of downtown?"

In the end we settled on the place over by the magic shop. It wasn't a franchise, and its competent employees were enough to compensate for the annoying steampunk aesthetic decor, which under normal circumstances would have made all my orders 'to go'.

"And what if you're not there?" I tried not to sound desperate.

"I'll be there." Her voice was fainter. "Now go."

"Go where?"

Nothing remained. Except the wind.

  


* * *

  


Thankfully my brain came back on before I went wandering into town. Wearing full fatigues wasn't enough to make me stand out. Soldiers were still a common sight in all parts of the city, enough that I could easily blend in. On the other hand, I had no idea what kind of APB had been put out on me.

Her.

_Us._

I considered my options. The hospital was close by and a comparatively soft target, but probably didn't have much in the way of a casual fall look. All of the clothing stores were too close to the center of downtown, including the cop shop which was right across the park from the train station. And I didn't care to test my luck on random backyard clotheslines.

I growled and cracked my knuckles. That was when I spotted the pair of Freaks blocking the sidewalk not thirty feet away from me. The male was bald, with metal studs all over his skull and large speakers rising from his shoulderpads that boomed out an obnoxious techno beat. He stood there bobbing his head, watching with keen interest as his female partner held a knife to the cheek of her terrified victim. The unlucky civilian in question looked to be a youngish businessman type clutching his briefcase to his chest.

I did a quick scan of the area. It would be just like these cyberpunk assholes to set a clever trap for some unsuspecting Samaritan. But the coast was looking more or less clear.

A few large rocks lay in the stretch of grass between us. I crouched low and crept behind one, keeping them in my sight. The woman was running her blade down the face of her victim, taking obvious pleasure in his paralysis. Her partner was giggling, a low and continuous chuckle that sounded like an attempt to emulate Butthead.

His laughter came to a halt as the barrel of my gun made contact with the base of his skull.

"Um...sweetie?"

"Not now, dear." His mohawked mate toyed with the end of the salaryman's tie, her neon red lipstick split open in what passed for a smile. "I'm trying to decide on a trophy."

Something in the salaryman's expression must have set her off. As she started to turn, I'd already laid into her boyfriend's head with a good old fashioned pistol whip. It drove him to his knees with a groan, clutching the concrete sidewalk with both hands. I was just lucky he hadn't had a complete skull replacement. Even the greenest recruits to the Freakshow usually sported a few skeletal reinforcements. Think Wolverine, without the Canadian charm.

"Moron." The female Freak's ugly hiss was only outmatched by the look in her eye as she took in the sight of me. She threw the salaryman to the ground and wiggled her fingers.

"Well come on, GI Bitch." Little arcs of lightning curled over her knuckles as she made a fist. Back and forth, around and around in a never-ending circuit. "You got the gun. What are you waiting for?" 

I stared back at her. She might have been my age, or close to it. The shaggy tuft of hair sprouting from her shaved skull had been dyed a shocking pink.

(See? I literally can't help myself.) 

"Cat got your tongue?" Her voice grew mocking. "Or maybe you're just special needs."

For a split second I thought of shooting her boyfriend in the leg. But I didn't need to be going around making enemies. And if they went to an emergency room, the bullet would lead directly to me.

"Well, I never went to college." I kept my tone light and conversational as I grabbed her boy toy by the back of his collar, hauling him upright. His head was wobbling on his neck, a string of drool dangling from his mouth. "So I can't be all that bright."

"Put him down," she ordered. But I could see the change in those flashing metal eyes, from anger to something more.

"Isn't that something?" I gently tapped the side of his head with the barrel, keeping my eyes and the pistol trained on her. "It must be love."

A shower of sparks erupted from her clenched fist. The petrified salaryman let out a cry and scrambled backward like a crab, scuttling away from the sparks as they hit the sidewalk and died away. He turned and stumbled to his feet, breaking into a run as he tore across the parkway toward the safety of the nearby office buildings.

"You want him back? In one piece, with no new holes?" I jammed the barrel under his jaw, ignoring the sick feeling in my stomach at the look on her face. "Give me your clothes."

"Who do you think you are, the Terminator?" But her hesitation was clear. "The only thing I'm giving you is a one way ticket. To the morgue --"

She froze as the shot rang out.

We were both lucky in that the bullet went more or less where I wanted it to. Which was within inches of her face, and then out over the hill where it would end up falling into the bay. Hopefully that would keep me low profile. But if you know anything at all about violence in the real world, you probably know that warning shots are generally a very bad idea. Hence the emphasis on luck.

I opened my hand and let her boyfriend fall. His face met the sidewalk with a smack, drawing a gasp from her.

My voice was as cold as Bridget.

"Strip."

Sixty seconds later I was the proud owner of a slightly used black leather biker jacket, with matching pants. I tried to ignore all the extra holes that allowed for the presence of body modifications I wouldn't have gotten in my worst nightmares. I'd generously allowed the Freakshow to keep her underwear, not particularly relishing the thought of her unmentionables tucked up agaist mine. She hadn't worn a bra. Unfortunately, the view of her otherwise picturesque boobs was rather spoiled by bad tattoos and a bevy of piercings.

I made them walk away first, watching them hobble across the street in the direction of the hospital. Only when they disappeared around the corner did I run. I held my old clothes tight to my chest, ignoring every stare from every last gawking motorist and pedestrian. My heels pounded the pavement as marching drills paraded through my head, obscene little ditties to enforce habit and discipline.

They were still going through my head ten minutes later as I stood in a filthy back alley in front of a burning trash barrel. I stood there wearing a stolen set of black leather I would have killed for in high school, watching as my uniform slowly went up in smoke. The last vestige of my former life.

_You got the gun._

I stared at it. Finally I shoved it deep inside my jacket. The bulge wasn't bad, but a concealed holster would still come in handy. And if I expected to do more than pistol whip and intimidate someone, I'd need more ammo.

I checked my watch. Still almost two and a half hours.

What the hell now?

  


* * *

  


"Excuse me?"

"Yes -- oh." The young lady's face fell to the floor as she took in my near to skinhead crew cut, the beat up black leather with what looked like genuine combat boots. "Can I help you?"

She sounded like she meant _off the premises_. I ignored the chill and gave her a smile.

"Yeah. I'm looking for periodicals?"

Her brow crinkled in confusion. She looked like your typical librarian. The young kind, not the old. And not the sexy kind. By that I mean, she was cute enough, but some of them just have that vibe. You know, where instead of a come hither look you're positive that any minute they're going to walk up behind you and casually slit your throat for making too much noise? Yeah. She had that vibe.

(I really am resisting another sex joke.)

Her disdain was giving way to a decidedly unsure look. "You mean...newspapers and magazines?"

"Well, sure." I offered a friendlier smile, and a shrug. "If you want to take all the fun out of it."

"I'm sorry." Her eyes traveled up and down me once again, vaguely distant. "We've had some trouble recently, and --"

She stopped. I saw her squint at the bottom of my jacket, where it was most heavily covered in decals.

"Oh!" Her face cleared right up. "I'm sorry. Right this way."

She led me to the stacks with a smile on her face. I watched the sway of her skirts as she took her leave, until I thought to check my jacket.

It didn't take long to find the likely target of her attention. The tagged text was bold, jagged and 3-D, its lettering boldly stating

_MIZ FRANCINE SEZ: REEDING IZ FUN DA MENTALL_

I looked over at the front desk. The librarian was deeply engrossed in conversation with another one, of more advanced age and even more conservative dress. As I perused the rows before me, I could feel both of them watching. Not like you would a shoplifter, no more than little surreptitious glances as they continued their discussion.

Nothing leapt out at me from the headlines. As far as I could tell, there were no stories about the military deserter in league with a fallen hero. Or even about said hero gone rogue having escaped from custody. I wasn't sure if the lack of coverage was entirely a good thing.

I spent a few more minutes picking through periodicals before casually taking my leave. My quiet exit didn't go entirely unnoticed, though. As I passed the front desk, the older lady caught my eye and smiled, with a knowing nod.

"Any friend of Francine's is welcome here." She cocked a stern eyebrow. "You just stay out of trouble."

"I'll do my best." I managed to not reflexively tack on a _ma'am_.

They were both watching as I left the building. I wasn't sure where it was coming from, but I got the distinct feeling I was being pitied. Something like _Oh you poor sweet illiterate thing; so wonderful that you're trying to better yourself._

I shook my head as I retrieved my gun from where I'd stashed it, outside in a bush to avoid the library's metal detectors. No telling if they were more sensitive than Portal Corp models. Not worth taking the chance.

Clothes aside, my lack of body mods would hopefully keep anyone else from assuming I was in deep with the Freakshow. I was near the center of town, with the transit depot just a few blocks away. I could only hope that some other complete stranger wouldn't decide I was their trusted friend based on whatever bumper sticker wisdom they read off of my T-shirt. 

Today was a good day on the island of Talos. Or so it looked as I passed by the tram. No high and mighty Warriors shaking down hapless citizens; no Big Trouble in Little China rejects hocking stolen artifacts, enticing the gullible with herbal potions. Just a bright sunny afternoon, with plenty of normal people doing normal everyday things.

Becoming a soldier makes you feel apart from civilians, but even more like a citizen. Now I felt like an ex-citizen.

I shook my head, trying to redirect my thoughts. Even before the chaos and destruction of the Rikti invasion, Paragon City had always seemed like there was a massive hive of scum and villainy teeming beneath the otherwise pleasant surface. I'd done a report on it for eighth grade English. A few years later I was able to recycle and expand upon it when my high school debate class was getting heavily into criminal sociology. Most people put the lion's share of the blame on the rapid and steady rise in the superpowered population. They knew all the trouble they would certainly get into if they had those abilities. Why should their fellow man be any different?

The magic shop was up ahead. I could see the scruffy wooden shingle hanging out front, swaying in the breeze. And just before it, tucked back from the street so you had to drive slow or miss it, was Cuppa Joe. A Paragon institution for as long as I could remember, it was one of the few remaining independents that hadn't been crowded out, bought out or sold out. Like everyone else, they'd put in free wifi, but otherwise their menu and decor remained unchanged. As I stepped inside I could already glimpse the table in back where I'd felt up my first "real" girlfriend, both of us amped and jittery on too many double mochas. 

I hadn't been here in almost two years. Still, the fact that I recognized none of the workers didn't stop me from being antsy as hell until I got my coffee and sat down in the farthest corner, where I could still see the front door. Anyone who bothered me back here was asking for it. In more ways than one.

And that in itself was a sign that there was more than one something very much not right with my world. I was behaving out of character. Except every time I tried to get a handle on exactly how -- never mind the _why_ \-- it all fell apart in a jumble of self-doubt. None of it made sense, from turning on my comrades in arms to firing my weapon at some random civilian. It felt more and more like I was standing outside myself observing. Watching someone else going through the motions.

I mean, I'm not denying I've done some crazy shit to get laid. But I wasn't quite ready to blame desertion (treason!) on a passing fancy for the first actual super to come within spitting distance. Even if she did push more than one of the right buttons.

And the way she was acting toward me didn't fit the pattern. At least not the one I'd been assuming.

But going down that rabbit hole was a sure route to paralysis and indecision. I'd been there before, and now was most definitely not the time. You started questioning in an honest attempt to determine the truth. Before you know it you decide you're just wrong about everything. And by that point, you'll fall for just about anything.

I was so engrossed in rumination I didn't notice the warm breath on the back of my neck. Then I felt the gentle poke of a finger, on the same spot. It took everything I had not to give myself whiplash. 

"Howdy, sailor." Amused as she was, Bridget didn't seem to be having too much fun at my expense. If anything, she sounded slightly relieved to see me.

"Sit the hell down." I took a sip from my coffee. "And let's get a few things straight."

"Interesting choice of words." The chair shifted in front of me, her silhouette fading into view. She was still wearing the plain dark blue slacks and sweater, hair tied back in a ponytail.

"Don't play games." I took a quick and furtive glance around, but nobody appeared to notice or care. "Not if you expect me to fight at your side."

"Nobody asked you." Her cutting reply was tempered by her casual tone, her overly relaxed body language. "But I will ask you to buy me a double. If you please," she added.

I checked my pockets, making a show of counting my change. "You gonna pick up next time?"

"Like I said." Bridget shrugged again, leaning back in her chair. "I'm broke."

"Good." I noted her abrupt attentiveness. "Because that's the kind of thing we need to get straight."

She considered this a moment, regarding me in deeper thought. "Go on."

"You need money," I said. "To quote the commercial --"

"We all do." Bridget gave a rueful smile of acknowledgment. "And I'm thinking you might be concerned about where mine comes from."

I nodded. "Just a bit."

Her pensive gaze fell to the handful of rumpled bills in my hand. She didn't say a word, but I could feel the rising heat in my cheeks.

I grabbed her eyes with mine, lifting them back up. "You want that double or not?"

Her smile seemed barely there. "Please."

I waffled at the register over getting her something else. Then I decided that would be a passive-aggressive bitch move. If one of us was going to be the control freak in this relationship, it wasn't going to be me.

I could feel her watching as I made my way back, winding my way through the maze of scattered tables. As I sat down, I realized I hadn't thought to ask how she took it. Between the twinkle in her eye and my own short temper, it might not be worth it. I'd just have to continue muddling through until I could get more of a handle on things. And isn't that life for pretty much everyone?

"Black is fine." She took a long sniff from the mug. "So you want me to swear another oath? That from now on, I'll only steal from bad guys?"

I had to admit I could live with that. Though the thought of trying to bind her further honestly hadn't occurred to me. Maybe I hadn't put a gun to her head, but every sane person knows a promise made under any kind of duress is about as binding as wet kleenex.

"Well, without a computer, the big dogs are out of reach." Her eyes fluttered shut as she raised the cup to her lips, with a low murmur of appreciation. "But we're not far from Atlas. Head over to the west side near Perez. All those gang bangers in and out? You know there's money to be had."

That seemed a little hazardous, and I said so. Bridget shook her head.

"Anyone can knock over a stash house." She stared off into the distance behind my left shoulder with a look of intense pondering. "But that just nets you a day's take. At most."

"What are we talking?" I inquired. "Two zeros? Three?"

Her smile grew wider.

"You know what every drug dealer spends most of their money on? Besides cars and women and gold chains and lawyers?"

I tried not to scoff. "Cocaine?"

"I said dealer, not lawyer."

That was a stumper. I had to admit defeat.

"Politicians." Bridget raised her mug to me in a mock salute. "From the president on down to your friendly neighborhood dog catcher. Everyone's for sale."

"Yeah?" I regarded her with open skepticism. "What's your price?"

Her eyes narrowed, but her only response was a small smirk as she continued.

"I guarantee you that whoever owns that side of town, or any other, makes regular and substantial political contributions. We find the bag man -- whoever it is doing the drop that day? Could be twenty, fifty grand. Easy."

I did my best to digest this. It seemed simple enough, on the surface.

"Of course, when that kind of money goes missing -- well." There went that damn twinkle again. "Someone might be a bit more motivated to get it back. Maybe make an example out of who took it."

Knowing it full well for what it was, I took the bait. "Would that stop you?"

"Hell, no."

Her smile grew wicked.

"Just makes it more fun."


	8. Paragon City: Perez Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I robs drug dealers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been sitting around mostly done for about eight months now. Banged it out in the last few days. Still not my first priority, this world is nonetheless never far from my mind.

I thought the military had taught me how to deal with boredom.

My new partner in crime appeared hellbent on showing just how wrong I was. We'd been holed up for the past five days on the top floor of a vacant office building, across the street to the north of Perez Park. The actual entrance gates were to the east and west, and so the local gangs who ruled the streets around the park had used sledgehammers to demolish sections and create new entrances at the north and south end. Neither Hellions nor Skulls actually set foot inside, where the woods were still the domain of crazed mages, robots and overgrown sewer slugs.

From the cafe in Talos we'd gone straight to the tram, the whole time my heart doing triplets in my chest, my skin crawling with the notion of untold numbers of cameras recording from any and all angles. It didn't help that I was still decked out in full Freakshow leather. Bridget had simply slipped aboard the tram sight unseen, riding the car just ahead of mine. We hooked up in Atlas, at which point she suggested we walk the rest of the way.

"It's good exercise." Her rueful expression seemed more self-deprecating. "And I do try to keep my feet on the ground."

I threw her a skeptical eyebrow. She smiled, and remained silent.

It felt good to be home, for the most part. As long as I didn't think too far ahead. Which sooner or later, wouldn't be an option. For now I continued to skate and slide, high on imagined drama. Plus an all too real shot of dopamine every time I looked over and found Bridget still there.

But then came the waiting game.

We'd been watching the building next door. Or rather, Bridget had been watching the building. The one we were in was already a skyscraper by my standards, though it didn't come close to the top of the shimmering War Walls. The one she had her eye on had another seventeen floors over us, as well as an additional tower rising from the center of the top floor. A steady stream of traffic, all day and every day; most of it Hellions, but now and then the occasional Skull. There was a security gate to Steel Canyon between the two buildings, and all of the gang members completely ignored the pair of armed guards, who seemed perfectly content to return the favor. As for me, I was spending just as much time on the move as I did sitting still, treading light as I paced and prowled my way around mostly empty rooms. Anything to avoid a squeaking floor that would earn me the wrong kind of look.

After all. I didn't want to disappoint her.

The only thing keeping me from being bored out of my skull was the thought of the purloined flash drive I'd lifted from my CO's laptop. Currently it was tucked away in one of the numerous zippered pockets on my new leather jacket. I hadn't once taken it out, constantly hyperaware of the little piece of metal and plastic pressing into my shoulder. I didn't dare touch it, even from the outside. Not when Bridget could be watching, invisible, any moment we weren't physically together.

The one nice thing about my growing paranoia was that it served as an effective counterpoint to the horniness. I tried to pay attention to what she said and not sound too stupid when I opened my mouth, all while distracting myself with idle notions about various outfits I wouldn't mind seeing her in and out of. Every time I thought of the flash drive, I went over a checklist of all the precautions I would have to take in order to access it securely. All the compromises I might have to make. How long I might have to wait. And yes, what might be on it.

Assuming I could even read the damn thing. For all I knew there was some kind of snazzy two-factor, maybe more. Something to ensure that only the right eyes could take a peek.

At least we weren't living on cold canned food, or worse. Even on the hazard side of the War Wall, most of the abandoned buildings had power, either scavenged from the main grid or even self-generated. Ours had a microwave in the back room, and when I found out I immediately made a petition. Bridget rolled her eyes, but graciously allowed me to stray from her side to go shopping. I headed back to Atlas, straight to the nearest convenience store where I loaded up on TV dinners, unable to stop my mouth from watering. After any of the mess halls I'd been forced to endure, this was a cornucopia of cuisine virtually overflowing with goodness.

Right now, I was finishing up the last of the jalepeno mac and cheese. I was sitting in the back room, so I didn't feel obligated to chew quietly. It also gave me the freedom to emit little noises of pleasure and satisfaction without feeling self-conscious.

When I wandered back out, Bridget was still watching the Hellion drug crew next door, making copious notes on a legal pad. I took a gander over her shoulder, but the only clear bit was their schedule. Who was working what hours, what they did --

"Threat level," she said, unprompted. Her pencil ran down a column of numbers, most in the zero to four range. Only one was in double digits.

I pointed to the bottom of the list. "Who's that?"

"Flavor of the month." Her dismissive tone had just the right amount of confidence.

'What else do we know?" I ignored my own trepidation. "Is this it?"

"Looks like." She indicated what I now realized was a crude map sketched out in the margins. "The cash flows in from Atlas and Skyway --"

"What about the guards?" I pointed to the gate.

"They don't get hazard pay." Bridget pronounced this with utter certainty. "But they do get a fat wad of cash for not noticing."

I frowned, drumming my fingers on the butt of my gun. Without a proper holster, I'd been wearing it on my belt for easy access. 

Her gaze caught the motion. "That wasn't personal."

"Forget it," I replied. She sounded casual. Still, it wasn't worth damaging the minimal trust we'd managed to build. "You were saying."

"Comes in from Atlas and Skyway." The tip of her pencil trailed across the map. "Twice a day, morning and evening. And all that gets picked up every night."

I waited for the punchline. Bridget allowed herself a grim smile.

"Problem." The end of the pencil tapped against her teeth. I could see the eraser missing, completely chewed off. "It's a full house. Mandatory attendance for all the top street level."

"Motivational speeches?" I hazarded. "Always be closing?"

That earned me a chuckle, but nothing else.

"And we have to sneak in and out of an entire building full of these highly motivated individuals." I shook my head. "Gets better by the minute."

"As far as when we make our withdrawal?" Bridget punctuated this with a pointed eyebrow. "I'm open to suggestions."

I threw out my first non-dirty thought. "How about after?"

She frowned. "How's that?"

"When they leave," I clarified. "Where do they take the cash? Steel?"

"Obviously." She indicated the gate again. "Big business district. Plenty of laundromats. If you happen to be burdened with an excess of filthy lucre."

"Right. So," I continued, rubbing my hands together as I leaned over the map. "We follow the car. Or maybe just ride along on top."

The corners of her eyes crinkled up. Oh, that subtle smile was definitely a sign of appreciation. Not a shadow of doubt in my mind.

"Then do the grab some point along the way. Whenever it looks right."

"Right." Her smile now was gentle, not quite patronizing. "What if it doesn't?"

"I'd like to think a clever girl like you can make your own opportunities. And past a certain point?" I returned her frank and open gaze with all the veracity I could muster. "Plans are overrated."

Bridget pursed her lips, surveying me with a look of shrewd appraisal. "They teach you that in the Army?"

Somehow, I kept it from sounding too smutty. "Among other things."

  


* * *

  


We ended up waiting one more day.

The next morning Bridget left our lair, for the first time since we'd arrived to do a stealth recon flight around our target. It was over an hour before I heard the tap on the window. I kept an eye out for anyone watching as I felt the cool breeze that signalled her passing. Still I waited until I'd shut the window and drawn the blind, walked into the adjoining room with no windows before turning to find her visible. Her resigned expression held just the smallest touch of something else.

"Couldn't get to the top." It was embarrassment, too, that colored her voice. "Damn thing's higher than the force field from the Wall."

"There goes our entry from the roof." I was going to expand on this. Bridget shook her head.

"I checked the highest floor I could get to. Looks like that whole top section is sealed off." She peeled off her mask and tossed it on the table, rubbing the back of her neck as she headed for our makeshift kitchen. "Any more coffee?"

"Plenty." I didn't tell her she'd have to make it herself.

I waited until I heard sounds of domesticity. Then I walked over and stood in the doorway; leaned against the frame with my arms folded, having far too much fun enjoying the sight of her bustling. In her casual short-sleeved shirt and more skin than ever exposed, she looked like an ebon streak of night brought to life. Gliding through dayside without the slightest qualm or hint of concern.

I was too distracted by the tiny sparks of lightning swirling in her gaze. Then I realized she was waiting for me.

"What?" I didn't try to hide my lack of awareness. Bridget shook her head.

"I said I changed my mind." She was already pulling the carafe free from the coffeemaker, with barely a cup having run its way through. "I don't want to wait. We're taking it from right there."

"Okay." I tried to ignore the mild sense of disappointment, as well as the growing foreboding. "Did you find the vault?"

"As a matter of fact --" She blew across her mug, inhaling greedily from its aromatic vapors with an appreciative sigh. "I did. And it's not underground."

"No?" I wandered over to the counter. My vaunted cool and casual turned out all for naught when I found myself faced with an empty pot. Saying anything made me the loser, but so did silently making my own coffee. Only not as badly.

"Top floor of the main section." She pointed to the legal pad she was carrying, that showed a side view sketch of our target. "They send it up in pneumatic tubes. Like an old bank drive-through."

"Wow." I wasn't being sarcastic. "Either that thing's older than it looks, or somebody had a bad case of nostalgia."

"Think it's a relic from the dot-com era." Bridget tucked her pencil behind one ear, where it begged me to grab it. The pencil, not the ear -- okay. Whatever.

"How you figure?"

"Probably some cyberpunk CEO. Never went to college. Wanted something straight out of _Brazil_." She chuckled, only to stop when she turned to face me. "What's wrong?"

"You like _Brazil_?" I hoped I didn't sound too stunned. I know I looked a tad skeptical.

"I can't have layers?" Bridget looked half smug, half genuinely curious.

I found myself flailing for a lifeline. "You just didn't strike me as --"

"A person with their finger on the pulse of the zeitgeist?" The twinkling merriment in her eyes belied her casual tone. Defeated, I let her have the reins.

"Let's just say I have a love-hate relationship with pop culture." She took a slurpy sip from her coffee. "The more recent it is, the more I probably hate it."

"That sounds fair." I couldn't resist the first thought that popped into mind. "Eighties music?"

"Great ideas," she responded smoothly. "Pisspoor production."

"And speaking of tubes --" I pointed again at her drawing of the bank. "Do we have to go out the way we came in?"

"That's the part I don't like." And indeed, her frown said this was serious.

"What's wrong with Steel?" I asked.

"We'll still be on Hellion turf. Surrounded by businessmen. And lawyers." Bridget shook her head, tucking back a wayward cobalt strand of hair as she stared at the drawing.

"No."

Was that a smile on her face?

"I think I've got something."

  


* * *

  


"I don't like it already."

"Don't care," Bridget replied. "You signed up for high adventure."

"I'd have to be a lot higher, all right." The tingling, empty feeling in the soles of my feet was more intense than any other I could recall. I'd never considered it a fear of heights _per se_. Just a perfectly normal survival trait.

"I understand." Her hand cradled the back of my neck in a comforting massage. It only lasted a couple of seconds, and nothing about it could have been considered untoward or anything more than platonic encouragement. Except I could feel her touch even after I knew it had been lifted away. My skin crawled with electricity, the growing fuzz at the base of my scalp standing up on end.

"Sorry," she muttered.

It took me a moment to realize she was apologizing. I felt like asking what for would be a tragic mistake. One I might not walk away from.

"It's okay." I swallowed the fear, along with the lump in my throat. "Give me a minute."

"We don't have a minute." The shimmering disturbance hovering outside the open window drew closer as I stood there clutching the sides, breathing the slight tang of ozone.

"I know there's no water down there." Invisible fingers gripped my shoulder, striving for reassurance. "I won't let you fall."

The tingling didn't go away as I clambered on, wrapping myself across the broad spread of her back. I ignored the heat between my legs now pressed up tight against her.

"Radio silence," Bridget whispered. Already we were moving. I swallowed, and didn't say a word.

It was one of those humid yet sunny days. The kind where the weather threatens constantly to break into storm, and often does.

We were circling around the back of the skyscraper, approaching from the far side. Behind us rose the massive impenetrable War Wall, while across the street I could see the crumbling stone facade from decades past that barely contained the increasingly restive denizens of an increasingly hazardous Perez Park. The city had declared it off limits shortly after the first alien invasion, and the designation didn't look to be lifted within my lifetime.

Luckily, I'd succeeded in being so engrossed in my thoughts that I hadn't noticed our gentle approach. I came out of it to find us floating next to a window, all too high above an open cement courtyard that lay between the two buildings.

Her whisper reflected from the windowpane, caressing my ears with silk. "Get ready."

The chill in the air felt good on my overheated brow. I almost missed the circle of frozen glass, barely managing to close my fingers before it fell away. I could feel Bridget reaching inside to undo the latch. I could also feel my traitorous loins purring louder, concocting elaborate justifications for all manner of depravity.

"You can let go now."

I realized I was squeezing a bit tight. Her voice was only moderately strained. I forced my trembling legs into motion, praying my knees wouldn't give out as I clambered down off of her.

"That way." Bridget pointed further in toward the center of the building.

"Wait a minute --" I lowered my volume from an angry hiss, but I was still bent out of shape. "Did we ever figure out how many guards?"

"Two," she replied. "If we're quick about it."

I bit back an angry retort. Bridget had already turned away, beckoning for me to follow.

Which I did. What else could I do?

The hallway outside was lined with blank unfinished plaster. It didn't take long to run into something more substantial: A secondary bulwark in the form of a concrete wall. It seemed to surround the innermost chambers, insulating them from the empty rooms. A low hum on the other side was punctuated by a rhythmic and wheezy thumping, like some ancient machine still limping along on its last legs.

I gave Bridget the silent prompt: _Now what?_ She shook her head and set off down the corridor to the left. I had to hurry to catch up, treading light for fear of giving us away. Still, I was a little offended I didn't at least rate an eye roll. Apparently the honeymoon was over before it started.

You may be asking yourself if I was regretting trying to rip off a building full of armed and powered-up drug dealers. Believe me, I'd been regretting it since the coffee shop. But she made it clear to me this was the only way forward. With all her vast fortune confiscated, every asset literally frozen, this was the most efficient way to rebuild. That meant more protein in my diet, and more of whatever she needed money for. I didn't ask.

The curve of the hallway was constant, but so far the only doors had been on the outside to our left. Up ahead and I could just make out our first exception to that rule. We slowed to a stop and peered around the bend, examining the situation.

A pair of thuggish gentlemen in Hellion garb were standing on either side of a metal door. Extra wide with a sliding window, it wouldn't have looked out of place in a bank vault. The guards' jackets with the sleeves ripped off to expose their extensive tattoo work only made their throwback eighties attempt even more pathetic. It also revealed some halfway decent youthful muscle I wasn't looking forward to tackling.

One of the guards stifled a yawn. They looked as bored out of their minds as I felt stressed. That wouldn't help us get past them, or through that door. Even if someone else opened it, there was no way we could slip through undetected. Not within a hair's breadth of another human being.

I felt cool, slender fingers encircle mine and give a quick squeeze.

"Now." The word was barely a whisper.

I was still processing as I realized that Bridget was already on the move. Hovering so as not to make noise; slowly, to avoid moving around any air that might give away her presence. And I was frozen. Of all the things to be. All I could do was watch as she floated forward, one hand outstretched, the other reaching for her belt.

The guard who hadn't yawned was looking back and forth down the hall with a growing and puzzled frown. He was just turning to his partner as Bridget drifted up to within a foot of them, then dropped from the air to land on both feet.

The Hellion's eyes bugged out as his partner became a literal block of ice.

His mouth was opening as the shout died on his lips, his body going into a spastic jitterbug. Little sparks and snaps were erupting from his neck where Bridget had something in her left hand, was grinding it into his flesh, driving him back and up against the wall to flail helplessly. A dark stain was spreading over the crotch of his jeans. As for the sounds that were coming from his throat, let's just say I'm not used to hearing noises like that outside of porn.

I was about to say something when she grabbed him by the hair with her right hand, pulled him away and brutally slammed his head into the door. The echo wasn't as bad as I'd been expecting, but I still winced. They had to have heard that inside the room. Maybe the whole damn building.

Bridget threw him to the ground and stuffed the taser back into the pouch on her utility belt, staring at the seams around the edge of the door. She was running her fingers all around, from top to bottom, outlining the entire thing in a thin but rapidly expanding white line.

I was still at least five feet away and I could feel the bitter chill that emanated from the door. Enough to take a step back as plaster rained down from the ceiling, cracks appearing in the walls to either side as the door continued to buckle and bend. I could hear the _ping_ of rivets popping free, hinges that were fast giving way under the unrelenting pressure.

Bridget stepped out of the way. The door fell outward, landing with a clang.

Shots rang out from within. My sweating back was instantly pressed to the wall, as the one opposite erupted in ragged black spots. Bridget stared at the bullet holes in the wall with an expression of complete and utter disdain.

She raised her hand, making a casual gesture back over one shoulder. The scream from inside rapidly became a series of them. Not of pain, but panic. Someone -- more than one -- was yelling their lungs out as they desperately fought for something. The only other sounds I could hear brought to mind the image of a man endlessly slipping on an unending stream of banana peels.

Bridget peered inside. The smug look on her face, the chortle of glee under her breath, said we were home free. Until reinforcements arrived.

The thought made me hurry after her. I hadn't even pulled out my own gun, but the sight that greeted me as we entered the room wasn't helping me focus. Two bespectacled buffoons in white lab coats and face masks were dancing like fools, slipping and sliding all over a gleaming white circle of ice. Unable to keep their footing, they were still trying to hold on to their weapons. I was actually impressed they hadn't shot themselves.

I did a quick scan of the room as I edged my way around the circle. Row after row of folding cafeteria tables, covered in glassware and scales. And mounds of white powder. It coated every surface, hung in the air like pollen and tickled the back of my throat.

The screams came to an abrupt halt. I looked back to find both buffoons frozen in place, toppling over to land on the floor. A few chips came loose, making me wince. I didn't fancy the notion of someone dying from being broken in half before they thawed back out.

"Get the other one." Bridget was hauling in one of the thugs from the hallway. Thankfully, the icy one.

I ran out to the tased fellow and grabbed him under the armpits, wrinkling my nose at the smell I hoped was his clothes. Bridget nodded with approval as I dragged my body in and added him to the pile. But she wasn't looking at our growing number of fallen redshirts. She was staring at the tables full of white powder. Her nose was twitching like Bugs Bunny in a carrot garden.

"Jesus!" I jumped back away from the pile. Little lightning bolts were rippling across and around the motionless bodies, underneath the thick coating of ice.

"Enhance your calm, John Spartan." Bridget's mouth was hanging open slightly, her tongue running over her lips.

"Where the hell's the cash?" I couldn't see anything that looked like a vault. Or even a safe.

"The hell with cash." Bridget was in motion, her boots loud against the tile floor as she stalked up to one of the tables. "This is the _stash_."

Was this what she'd been after all along? Nothing more than raw product, fresh and uncut? Executive grade shit?

I could only shake my head as I watched her drop a healthy portion of powder into a beaker, then add distilled water from a plastic jug and stir. Bridget held up something wrapped in plastic, ripping open the sterile package. Her hands were shaking as she sucked up a full dose into the syringe, laid it on the table and rolled up her sleeve.

"Hit me."

I stared at her. Bridget was holding the needle out, business end pointed at her. The grim resolve replaced by expectancy and hope. Almost frightened; nonetheless determined.

"What." I shook my head. "The --"

"I don't do needles." Bridget's desperate apology rang somewhat hollow. She was practically dancing with impatience, like a four-year old in line to see Santa. "Come on, you can -- you can do it. Right?"

"I had basic field training." I was resisting the urge to back away. "But this is --"

"Then just --"

_"Quiet!"_ I yelled.

There was the sound of our breathing. The air moving in the ducts and ventilation shafts; the slow tick and crackle of warming and expanding ice.

Far below came muffled shouts, the sound of stomping feet _en masse_. Rising upward, coming ever closer.

I was staring at the liquid in the syringe as I took it from her. No sign of bubbles. I held it up and tapped it anyway, barely pushing the plunger. A drop of clear oozed from the tip, quivering as it hung on to the metal.

Was this what it had come to? Helping a junkie get her fix?

Her fingers gripped my shoulder as the needle sank in. I was trying to make it slow. I didn't want to burst a vein. All I could do was stand there, shoving junk into her at a snail's pace as the room began to fill with shouting angry men.

I barely kept the needle steady as a convulsion ripped through her. Any other time, I might have enjoyed it. Or the sounds she was making, the way she sagged onto me as I held her up.

I pushed the last of the contents in, yanking the needle out and hurling it to one side. A roar went up from the assembled Hellions. I recognized the one in the front row. He'd thawed out nicely. He also looked like he was itching for payback.

"You..." I groaned, feeling the last of my strength begin to ebb. "Weigh... a fucking --"

I blinked. An intense glow seared my eyes, enveloped her trembling hands in a light that threatened to blind like the sun.

The front row surged forward.

I pulled out my gun as they were flung back. Scattered like leaves, as if by an invisible hand.

A mighty wind swirled around Bridget, with her at the eye of the storm. The glow had faded from her hands and she was calmly moving forward; using her gale to gather up the entire group of hapless Hellions and shove them cursing and stumbling into the wall, into the corner to pile up in a heap. Their hands were blazing with fire, little puffs of smoke and yelps of pain the result whenever they came in contact with one of their buddies. 

More were pouring into the room. Bridget whipped her head around with a look that brought them all skidding to a halt. Then she gestured, in a way I could tell was different.

The shrieks of pain were deafening. A dark cloud hovered directly over the heads of the newcomers, pelting them with a torrential downpour of rain that appeared painfully cold in the extreme. The Hellions were barely able to move, crying like babies as they tried to flee in every direction, slamming into each other in their frantic attempts at escape. The floor was already covered with water, turning to sheets of of slush beneath their feet.

One of them was actually pushing through the wind, squinting to shield his eyes. His fingers brushed her collar, straining for purchase.

"Thanks." Bridget grabbed him by his lapels and pulled him close, giving the surprised Hellion a savage and clearly sarcastic kiss. Then she threw him back into the wall.

"Heads up!" I yelled.

Another had managed to force his way out of the patch of rain. He was taller than the rest. Taller than Bridget, his snarling face made up like the mask of a Japanese demon.

He was already through the mass of spinning clouds that surrounded her. She didn't flinch as he grabbed her by the throat. She only smiled at his grimace of pain, the crackling layer of frost that covered his hands, extending down both arms. 

How was I even noticing any of this? Don't ask me. Especially when I was busy robbing the now helpless Hellions for everything they were carrying. They'd apparently come loaded with cash, ready to deliver. And then the alarm had sounded. All hands on deck.

Bridget was making that _freeze_ gesture, to no avail. The hulky Hellion picked her up by the throat and took a few quick steps, slamming her into the wall. He was laughing as he raised a massive flaming fist, brought it forward and pummelled her dead center. It rocked her head back against the wall, but she didn't look dazed when she came back down. Only more pissed off.

He was drawing back for another when I shot him in the throat. The spray of blood caught Bridget half across her startled face. He immediately dropped her and staggered back, clutching his neck.

I was starting to freak out. I'd been aiming for his head. That would have been cleaner. And the sounds he was making as he fell to his knees, the sight of him at the center of that growing puddle of red, were bringing all of this home to me in a way that felt all too real.

The remaining Hellions appeared to be every bit as much in a state of shock. At least the ones who weren't beaten or frozen unconscious.

"Come on!" Bridget was grabbing my wrist, the sweet ache of her fingers almost a burn. My entire arm felt numb to the shoulder as she dragged me toward the far wall, the open air shower with its enormous drain holes in the slanted tile floor. Apparently the Hellion bosses were concerned about chemical-related injuries in the workplace. More likely they needed a convenient place to quickly dispose of a few kilos of evidence.

Bridget pointed at the drain.

A column of ice sprouted from the shattered floor, slammed into the ceiling as the tile cracked and split open, sending a shower of tile fragments whizzing past my face. In seconds it was a chasm. Hellions were swarming on the other side of the great divide, hurling insults and any nearby objects they could lay hands on.

Bridget swayed on her feet and staggered, grabbing her head. She would have fallen on her ass if I hadn't grabbed it. Not literally.

But now there was a handy escape route. A freshly dug tunnel, lined with ice like a luge run.

The first Hellions were jumping across when I took the plunge.


End file.
